The rape of radio

791.9 : lr

Keep Your Card in This Pocket

Books will be issued only on presentation of proper
library cards.

Unless labeled otherwise, books may be retained
for two weeks. Borrowers finding books marked, de-
faced or mutilated are expected to report same at
library desk; otherwise the last borrower will be held
responsible for all imperfections discovered.

The card holder is responsible for all books drawn
on this card.

Penalty for over-due books 2c a day plus cost of
notices.

Lost cards and change of residence must be re-
ported promptly.

Public Library

Kansas City, Mo.

Keep Your Card in This Pocket

RKOWIT7 ENVELOPE CO., K. 0., MO.

'

-r .T;

From the collection of the

m

Prelinger

I.-. a

XJibrary

San Francisco, California
2006

THE RAPE
OF R^rtt)

THE RAPE
OF RADIO

by

ROBERT WEST, PH.D.

DIRECTOR, RADIO ARTS GUILD OF AMERICA

AUTHOR OF
"So-o-o YOU'RE GOING ON THE AIR"

RODIN PUBLISHING COMPANY

205 West 57th Street New York

'COPYRIGHT 1941 BY ROBERT WEST

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY T. J. LITTLE & IVES COMPANY. NEW YORK

/ 7A / _ ; , _, . ^ , , J

U/J MY NAME IS RADIO!

BY ROBERT WEST

My name is RADIO! My influence shall abide!
I, Magic Box, am something years ago
The wizards dreamed of in the Arabian Nights.
Science has conceived and brought to birth,
More wondrous far than legends' figments wrought
By the ingenious bards of long ago.

Use cannot make me stale nor custom pale

The glamor of my march of offerings.

The world now needs me every day and night

To fill its every want and appetite

For news, for music and sweet conversation,

For comedy that wreathes society in smiles.

I feel like a spirit medium that can bring
The listener what'er he wishes from the void.
Do you want multitude of thoughts, all types?
Full measure comes with the revolving dial;
The masters wait to pour out symphonies
That rock the world and set your soul on fire.

Do you want messages of happenings

About this troublous world? You surely may.

Do you seek sympathy, companionship?

Then I am ready to respond and give

You all the fullness of my complex chords

To shake you out of selfish isolation

As you glide on from station unto station.

For I am RADIO! Forward tomorrow,

I shall strike out for rich new worlds to conquer

Making the present television faint

A shadow of the glories that will come

In fullness of the real in shape and hue.

Life shall be more bounteous for my task!
'Tis mine to enlarge your reach and view and ear
To the utmost bounds, making man great
As could be wished when a young Alexander
Did set to conquer the whole habited world;
Only my means persuasively are unfurled.

•tfc 25 :«Z

° 1065824

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

1. MlKEPHOBIA 3

2. THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 20

3. RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 57

4. Music 117

5. LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 149

6. MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 162

7. CAN A MIKE TEACH? 175

8. RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 211

9. THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 268

10. PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 285

11. RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 356

12. DOES RADIO RULE POLITICS? 415

13. SHALL CENSORSHIP RULE? 459

14. THE SINS OF THE SPONSOR 474

15. WHAT Ho! TELEVISION 508

16. WHAT DOES THE PUBLIC WANT? 525
APPENDIX — THE NAB CODE 535

THE RAPE
OF RADIO

MIKEPHOBIA

BROADCASTING brought into the mental picture a
new species of hysteria called "microphone fright."

The microphone creates in many individuals an extraor-
dinary fear and a nervous reaction that often defies analysis.
Jane Froman, the singer once expressed it: "The most nerve-
wracking moment is thirty seconds before you go on the air."

The human nervous structure is a complicated switch-
board. The microphone is entirely unrelated to the average
person's mental path. When this new instrument is plugged
into the psychical nervous center, the individual "sees" new
things which do not exist. The nerve currents tend to reverse.
The whole system is overcome by a blockage. This produces
symptoms of speech paralysis for no physical cause.

The very presence of the microphone brings about changes
in the vasomotor system, the respiration system, the viscera
and certain peripheral changes such as perspiring and muscu-
lar contractions. In addition to these primary reactions, there
are other reaction-patterns which depend upon the cerebro-
spinal nervous system. These involve such reactions as facial
expression and vocalization, and also flight. Many a man
would like to flee from the microphone once he's before it.

Note the reaction of Gargantua. The circus gorilla was to
have roared and beat his chest (just as Johnny Weismuller
does) before a wire mike. Bob Carter was engaged to coax
the beast to perform his vocal daily dozen. However, like
many a prima donna and operatic tenor, the sight of the
microphone frightened our jungle friend, and for the dura-
tion of the broadcast he remained mute.

How shall one avoid the "fidgets" when one comes before

3

4 RAPE OF RADIO

the microphone? The only way is to organize intellectually
the emotions to accept the studio and the microphone as a
very ordinary situation. Thus, control over the emotion fear
represents a certain intellectual control and balance.

Only by experience can the emotions be intelligently or-
ganized to accept the microphone as a very ordinary gadget
like the telephone. One should talk into the microphone
with the same sense of composure that one talks into the
telephone.

Will Rogers complained that the first parts of broadcasts
were never as good as the last parts, so five minutes before
his contribution to the program, he started speaking into a
dead microphone. Edward G. Robinson is somewhat nervous
in the first five minutes of his program. Alton Cook reports
that it takes Robinson those five minutes to get into the
melodrama's spirit, after which he swings into full tilt.

Many programs are broadcast successively to the West
Coast as well as to the East. The rebroadcast in every in-
stance is more improved. Practice, in radio, makes for
smoothness and ease of manner, control in voice, naturalness.

John Barrymore, himself, is not immune to microphone
fright even after rehearsing diligently. Ed Sullivan reports
Barrymore's first appearance before the little metallic filter
through which he was to make one of his passionate
speeches. "Gentlemen," said John, "I am not a cowardly
man, and I have looked into the eyes of cold and sullen
audiences in theaters, but there is something so completely
impersonal and so sneeringly eloquent about the micro-
phone that I feel an immediate urge for a drink." The
studio attendants were not astonished at the request, for the
drink was produced immediately.

Dr. R. E. Lee is authority for the statement that Lou
Holtz always starts his broadcast with a swig of sherry,
to ensure a clear throat. Zasu Pitts, in order to get the mood
for her broadcast, rode up and down all afternoon in the

MIKEPHOBIA 5

subway. Such a method is as good as any other for focalizing
your own sense of sensibility and self-control.

The broadcasting studio itself represents an unusual set-
ting. The unnatural hush upsets even the most poised
persons. The program director, with his eyes glued to the
clock, with his arm ready to signal that you are about to
go on the air, looms up as a sort of Jack-the-Giant-Killer.
There is a grimness about the studio even in the bright
white lights. The microphone itself seems to look at you
with metallic grimaces. The whole area seems hostile. Even
no well-wishing audience that stares at you intensifies your
uneasiness. And the lynx-eyed man in the control room seems
to peer right through his glass window right into your very
soul. All this sounds fantastic to the experienced broad-
caster; but these are often very genuine reactions to the
beginner. Hollywood stars who unflinchingly face the bat-
teries of cameras suddenly get the jitters when they enter
the broadcasting studios and face the mike. Experience be-
fore the moving picture machine does not always imply
an easy attitude before the microphone.

In radio circles, the term "snerk" is used in describing
mike mannerisms. The personal "snerks" of performers play
a large part in establishing self-assurance. Many a performer
clings to superstition. Ella Fitzgerald, a swing vocalist with
Chick Webb, always wore gloves during a broadcast. The
Andre sisters could not go on unless their father was sitting
in the front row directly in front of the mike. Every radio
artist has his own distinguishing set of microphone manner-
isms. Before and during a broadcast Kitty Carlisle bites her
lips. Rudy Vallee keeps fingering the bridge of his nose, as if
in deep thought. Kate Smith keeps tugging at her skirt.
Dick Powell rearranges his handkerchief a half dozen times.
Jeannette MacDonald wears glasses while broadcasting, and
either has one foot or both hands on the chair before the
microphone. This allows a sort of physical ease and creates

O RAPE OF RADIO

assurance and steadiness. Joan Crawford broadcasts seated
at a table, because she cannot trust her quivering knees.
In the spring of 1937 during the Lux program she forsook
her customary manner, stood right up center stage and
braved the mike. Publicity announcements state that her
husband, Franchot Tone, planted a kiss on the courageous
little woman, for this successful evidence of self-control. For
six years Walter Winchell stood up when before a mike.
Now he remains seated but always wears a hat. Lee Wiley
always takes off his shoes. Lawrence Tibbett is a foot tapper
when he sings. Because a battery of mikes causes him to
stammer, only two microphones were allowed in front of
George VI, both gold plated, when he toured Canada.

Lupe Velez made her first broadcast on Ed Sullivan's
program some years back. As she finished her song, Lupe
stepped back and quite unaware that the microphone could
pick up her voice as she retreated from it, said: "That was
lousy." There was a horrified silence from the CBS engineers
as her "lousy" remark shot out on the air from coast to
coast. Sometimes this nervousness is due to the fact that one
is pinned down to a script. George Raft is ill at ease when
pinned down to a script. He talks much more freely when
he is permitted to ad lib. The new experience of coordi-
nating reading with appearing before the microphone is
disturbing. Mary Livingstone's hands shake like a leaf. She
gets very nervous. A columnist who mentioned this to
Eddie Cantor reports Cantor as remarking, "Mary is the
only one in radio with a Sunday broadcast who starts getting
nervous the previous Wednesday." This is no attitude of
mind with which to approach the microphone.

Conditions in the studio sometimes jar the nerves of per-
formers. Thoughtful producers make every effort to make
things agreeable. The successful performance, they know,
depends upon the performer's peace of mind. It is said that
Jessica Dragonette used to complain about the air in the

MIKEPHOBIA 7

studio frequently. The program director, to appease her,
would pick up a dead studio telephone to go through the
elaborate pretense of severely reprimanding the ventilation
engineer. On the authority of Alton Cook who tells this
story, "the air was fresh then."

Ed Wynn at one time was quite exigent. He wanted three
microphones so he could turn around as he spoke. The
engineers gave him two extra mikes, one on either side
connected to nothing. A most satisfying hoax was played
upon Leopold Stokowski. The conductor insisted that he
and not the control engineer should operate the control
board. They gave him a dummy board and he turned the
dials with the delight of a baby. The actual control opera-
tion was performed by an engineer in another part of the
building. In the early days a glass curtain was installed across
the front of the studio stage. Studio acoustics have im-
proved to such an extent that an orchestra with a glass
curtain deflecting its sounds would sound terrible. Programs
no longer try to cut out the sounds an audience makes.

For some speakers the first appearance before the micro-
phone is their final appearance. Nothing can be done to
improve their temper. Their fears are deeply rooted. Damon
Runyon had one trial before the microphone and called it
a day. On the program with him were Gatti-Casazza, Gloria
Swanson and the late Arthur Brisbane who was making his
first appearance. This was in 1926. Sobol reminisces in his
New York Cavalcade: "Brisbane was to precede Runyon
and the latter watched and listened off side. There was
something about Brisbane's deadly earnestness that chilled
Runyon, and two minutes before he was to speak he slipped
out a side door and made the elevator in nothing flat. No
broadcasting studio has been honored by him since."

Jo Ranson tells the story of the late Ray Long, magazine
editor, who possessed all the poise in the world. When
asked to appear on the WABC's "Going to Press Hour,"

8 RAPE OF RADIO

Long wrote a beautiful speech, but was so struck by mike
fright that he fell completely off the chair and pleaded that
he could not continue. ; /*

Candid microphones have the effect of minimizing nerv-
ousness. Candid microphones that masquerade as silver vases
and bowls of flowers are replacing the "forest" of ugly
microphones that used to surround the speakers at a banquet
table. The audience wants to see and hear, but it does not
want to be distracted by a battery of "mikes." One of these
"candid mikes" is a decorative vase-like piece with silver
handles and a silver rod as antenna. For it is not only a
microphone but a complete short-wave transmitter requiring
no wire connections. Covered with flowers, it becomes a
floral centerpiece for the table.

How to Stand Before the Microphone

Richard Crooks stands well back before the microphone,
because his voice is full and round. Margaret Speaks stands
much closer. That makes their duets look very odd with the
soprano standing a foot or two in front of the tenor; but
these relative positions, in the blending process create a
perfect union of their voices.

Choirs often sound loud and robust on the air. A splendid
effect can be obtained with only seven voices. Before begin-
ning accompaniments for the choir songs, Alfred Wallen-
stein, oboe and clarinet players bend down and come up
with the saxophones, to give the proper reception. All these
tonal effects must be steady and much depends upon the
relative positions of the players before the microphone.

Edward G. Robinson often is a problem to the engineers.
He makes sudden dramatic changes in his voice, modulated
from a soft tone to a sharp, loud voice. The engineer must
be prepared at all times to adjust his volume levels, else his

MIKEPHOBIA 9

station would be knocked right off the air. Transmitter
tubes are limited in the volume they will carry.

There is a general impression that the sound engineer
through some electrical wizardry can make a voice or an
orchestra sound better than it really is. The truth is that
a microphone can report nothing except what goes into it.
All the engineer can do is to reproduce the qualities of the
sound with the greatest possible fidelity.

Position before the microphone is everything. NBC once
built an iron fence waist-high around the microphone to
keep the actors at a proper distance. The director must
judge the positions of the players before the microphone so
that the sounds will be natural for those positions. Distance
from the microphone to the origin of any sound changes it,
in volume and in quality. The whole subject concerns the
study of sound perspective. When Helen Hayes appeared
for her air production of "Jane Eyre," the director had to
figure out how high to place the microphone as Miss Hayes
stands five feet one inch, while her supporting star, Bob
Montgomery, was just one foot taller. Douglas Shearer, re-
cording director of the M.G.M. studios, calls attention to
the attention-factor in listening. The brain subconsciously
selects what it wants to hear and discards the rest. The
microphone has no attention-factor because it has no brain.
The engineer supplies the brain by calculating to what
extent it is necessary to reduce extraneous sounds to give
the feeling of naturalness, not to intrude on the presenta-
tion.

During a Ripley-WJZ program in April, 1937, "Ship-
wreck" Kelly was one of the guests. Everything was done to
make the champion flagpole sitter feel at home. A flagpole
was erected in the studio and Kelly was to broadcast from
the top of it. Let Alton Cook tell the rest: "Time came for
his first line, and Kelly sat paralyzed with mike fright,
couldn't utter a sound. Ripley and Ozzie Nelson filled in

10 RAPE OF RADIO

with remarks to cover the difficulty, hoping their man would
recover. Finally, Ed Gardner, a director, began shouting
Kelly's lines from the foot of the flagpole. That worked well
enough except for one line. Kelly recovered enough to read
that one right after Gardner had finished it."

Programs like Jack Benny's employ several microphones.
The control man tacks little signs all over the switchboard,
which keep track of who is using each individual mike. One
sign says "Benny," the second, "Baker," etc.

Sound effects require special attention. When the sound
of a door slamming is to get put in, the sound man's micro-
phone is turned on to catch the slam and then it is turned
off again. Control men are careful not to leave an unused
microphone open, because someone might sigh and say,
"My God, I wish this pesky business was all over." Or, as
is reported of one announcer on a children's program, "And
that will be all for you, little ."

The voice is sometimes too small for concert or opera,
but is excellent for radio work. A good musician is more
and more in demand in this field where facility in reading
and general musicianship are required. The policy of the
Juilliard School of Music is to discourage all from entering
the field as professionals unless their talents justify their
belief that they could make a living as musicians.

Microphone "Technique"

The word "technique" involves the notion of something
highly technical. The dictionary will tell you that it is the
method of performance or manipulation in any art peculiar
to any field. Method of performance before the microphone
consists of a few elementary rules of position, and the use
of the voice. The microphone technique of a performer or
speaker may be perfect; yet his voice or his playing may be
devoid of expression and fail to express intelligently his own

MIKEPHOBIA 1 1

ideas or the ideas of the composer. Many erroneously believe
there is something mysterious about microphone technique
that requires exhaustive study. The truth is that attention
should be focused on performance rather than upon that
grandiose term, microphone technique, which gives the
speaker or artist a feeling that he must study engineering
in order to appear before the microphone.

Mastery at the microphone by the President is often illus-
trated as an example of microphone technique. Franklin D.
Roosevelt knows how to direct his words effectively to both
the visible and the invisible audience. The technique in
this instance merely implies that he has been trained in
obeying those physical positions before the mike which
effective transmission requires. Surely when a man is told
not to cough into the microphone he would not regard it
as a piece of microphone technique.

As a piece of engineering skill, studio engineers assembled
a pygmy-size microphone for the exclusive use of Johnnie
Roventini, the page boy of the Philip Morris program,
WEAF. There was no more need for the box which lifted
his 43-inch frame to the microphone level. The individual
mike painted a bright red on a low stand is for his exclu-
sive use.

Irving Reis, once of the Columbia Workshop, when asked
if it had been his experience whether actors unfamiliar
with the microphone had any difficulty in adjusting their
art to the new medium, replied: "I believe that any intel-
ligent actor can learn all about the technique of broad-
casting in an hour, especially if he has had any experience
in motion pictures. I would say that it is much easier to
learn the technique of broadcasting, than for a stage actor
to learn the mechanics of the screen or a film player to
become initiated in the technique of the theatre.

"But in making his debut in the radio studios the actor
is merely taught the mechanics of broadcasting; he is told

12 RAPE OF RADIO

to keep within certain range of the microphone. A line
may be chalked off to indicate his position, and if he be-
comes confused by the physical movements, he is told to
stand still and to leave the entire matter in the hands of a
radio engineer, who is expert in regulating the tone level.
It has been my experience that when an actor begins to
worry about the microphone 'distances' to the detriment of
the part he is playing, it is better to let him forget about
the mechanics altogether and to let the control men do
the regulating in their glass-enclosed booth."

In the Clutch of the Engineer

The control engineer exercises sovereignty over everyone
in the broadcasting studio. By a twist of his dials he can
shut out the sound, or soften it down, or make it swell in
volume. His duty is to see that there isn't too great a volume.
From his control room, the voice goes to the master control
board, where the master control engineer corrects any errors
in sound volume overlooked by the studio engineer. From
the master control the voices travel over wires to the station
transmitter where they are sent out over the ether.

These engineers always keep guard at the station trans-
mitter where they are converted into radio waves traveling
with the speed of light. If the volume is too heavy at the
transmission point there is great danger of destroying the
sensitive transmission tubes, blowing the station off the air.

The studio control room man cannot afford to take
chances. His judgment of the dial is checked and double-
checked. An easier control, they insist, is to have the per-
formers control volume by moving toward or away from the
mike. It is this insistence upon a fixed position that makes
performers self-conscious and often prevents them from
giving their best performance.

Andy Sanella expresses his control of fear in this way:

MIKEPHOBIA 13

"Well, I sort of get set as a runner at a track meet does just
before the gun goes off, but after that I am perfectly at
ease."

Sometimes microphone fright is induced by a lurking fear
of a tongue-twister. Tongue-twister fear or the fear of some
blunder in song or speech is common to all artists. This fear
of making an error is a form of self-consciousness and indi-
cates a lack of concentration. You may be overcome by fear
in the beginning, but after a while broadcasting becomes a
lot of fun, and you never think of mistakes.

Rehearsals tend to make a performance perfect. Some
performers do worse during the informal atmosphere of the
rehearsal. It requires the "real thing" to bring out their
best abilities. The transition in mood to the final broadcast
is thus expressed by David Ross: "While I prefer the in-
formal surroundings of the rehearsal I believe the tense
atmosphere of the actual broadcast induces a proper nervous
excitation to call for a more spirited performance."

Presence of mind in the studio is always important
Things happen that cause the heart to beat faster. There is
the case of Amanda Snow. A group of folding chairs was
piled a few feet away from the microphone into which she
was singing. In the middle of fhe song Amanda swayed back
a pace or two and caught her heel in one of UK chairs. She
glanced back quickly. The singer instantly knew that if she
tried to pry her heel loose, the pile of chairs would topple
down and come over the air with the explosion of an
earthquake. Pity her! She continued singing in this uncom-
fortable position for twelve minutes, her foot paining her
more by the minute. The program over, she quickly released
herself.

It is important that the band director know his micro-
phone technique, in the sense of placing his instruments.
Every instrument must be placed in the best relative posi-
tion to obtain balanced prominence. For this reason the

14 RAPE OF RADIO

director should know how his music is coming through the
loudspeaker.

Don Bestor spends a good deal of time listening in. This
is Don Bestor's placement routine. The guitar is placed
exactly two feet away from the microphone; the violins four
feet away, sometimes three feet. Saxophones are drawn up
close together, with the alto sax slightly to the foreground
for tonal effect, some five feet from the microphone. The
brass section has a variable spread changing their stance
from nine to eleven feet, except during special interludes
when the mutes are brought close to the microphone. The
bass instrument is furthest from the mike about fifteen feet;
the drums, thirteen feet. The piano is equidistant with the
drums.

Chalk marks indicate the position each musician is to
take. Vocal choruses come best over the air when the strings
and the guitar move closer to the mike, and the brass is
double-muted. After much experiment with four micro-
phones to mix the tones, Don Bestor found results most
satisfactory with one microphone elevated to a height of
eleven feet from the floor. Music is always soft and subdued
to conform with his style of dance music.

Rudy Vallee calls the instrument "Poor Old Mr. Micro-
phone— as primitive as the man with the wooden plow.
The former is at the mercy of the control engineer."

"We who use it," said Rudy, "no matter how skilled
through years of trying to get strength of receptivity (mind
you, it gives no indication or sign as to whether it is even
alive or dead) are often as surprised as individuals on the
listening end to find we have ruined almost a whole pro-
gram. . . . And when we have trios and quartettes — then I
give up! Here the difficulty is to find out which voice or
voices are too close or too far away." The engineer's reply
is quite fair. "You should know your distances and the
strength of your voices," he says. He's right, but many of

MIKEPHOBIA 15

us don't, and oftentimes we feel a little stronger than at
others, and sometimes the monitor himself changes the gain
or strength of the current and we have no dial to indicate
the receptivity of the microphone.

To show just how helpless the networks are, let me tell
you about a broadcast in which a girl-trio sang. To us, in
the studio, they sounded fine. They sang for three minutes.
These three minutes cost the sponsor, in radio time, seven
hundred and fifty dollars (this on the basis of $15,000 for
sixty minutes) . Then after the broadcast someone hap-
pened to ask the engineer (he didn't volunteer it, mind
you!) how the girls came through. Rather nonchalantly he
said that the harmony was too close and that the girl who
was singing the melody was overshadowed. This engineer
was a very reticent man and, since most of them are paid
to watch a dial and not to make suggestions, we would
never have known that the girls were poorly balanced unless
we had asked. The poor listener-in probably dialed out to
find something more pleasing to the ear, but the unlucky
sponsor, who paid the bill, was more sinned against than
all of us. I've asked the engineers for something to tell us
just what was going on — even to lights over the microphones
to signal: GREEN — move in closer; RED — move further
away; BLUE — fine as it is.

The control engineer is no miracle worker of voices. He
cannot be expected to beautify your tone by increasing the
amount of current. There are at least three factors involved.
First,, the distance of voice from the microphone. Second,
the amount of current running through the microphone.
Lastly, the voice volume of the speaker or singer.

If your distance from the microphone is correct, but your
voice too strong in volume, the control man turns the gain
down to prevent blasting. This manipulation makes the
voice sound unnatural, with a far-away quality.

In her revealing biography, "Such Sweet Compulsion,"

l6 RAPE OF RADIO

Geraldine Farrar speaks soothingly of the efforts of Marion
Talley. "This charming, but tenuous soprano's voice," she
says, "was pushed to the amplified limit of large sound and
the tonal beauty suffered in consequence, sacrificed to noisy
volume."

On the other hand, if the voice is just correct in volume
but the stance is too far away, any attempt on the part of
the control man to bring it up by increasing current will
magnify all the imperfections and generally produce a tinny
quality.

The control man informs the production man by tele-
phone or signals from his control booth how things are
coming through the wires. He may signal the following
blunders: (i) You are too close; your voice reaches the
listener with a volume that may be blasting him out of his
chair. (2) You are too far away (the poor listener strains his
ears and wonders if old age is on him and if he needs an
acousticon). (3) You are in bad balance (the harmony so far
above the melody or the rhythm smothers both).

An over-zealous publicity man once swore that Alex
Weichew, the Fordham center, was so frightened by the
microphone before he started to speak that he kicked off his
shoes, gloves and threw imaginary passes to shake off his
nervousness.

Many performers throw themselves into an energetic
pantomime. Presence of mind is a gift. Gertrude Lawrence
forgot the lyrics of the song in the middle of a chorus. She
was magnificently equal to the occasion. She merely stopped
the orchestra and asked them to play the song over again.
She then hummed back into the chorus as it should have
been in the first place.

Radio has its unaccountable mishaps. Mrs. Roosevelt re-
hearsed a program with Hendrik Willem van Loon on the
WJZ program for an hour before they went on the air.
Everything went smoothly until the bottom of page eight.

MIKEPHOBIA 17

Then Mrs. Roosevelt turned over to page nine. She was in
consternation. Page nine had disappeared entirely from
her script. She mumbled in obvious distress. Someone rushed
up another page nine, and the broadcast went on smoothly
again. Subdued whispers. She went right on reading and
started through the top of page ten.

The Engineering Department

The engineering department is responsible for the cover-
age of the station and the entire technical transmission of
the program. The same is to provide the listeners with the
highest degree of fidelity and accuracy of reception.

In the studio, the studio engineer is in charge. He checks
every microphone equipment. He opens the microphones
and closes them as they are needed. He may blend them by
opening the announcer's microphone simultaneously with
that of the orchestra in order that the announcer's voice
may be heard above the musical background. His particular
duty is to "ride game," which term is defined as the main-
tenance of proper value, — a volume sufficient for the ear
of the listener and yet not so loud as to destroy fidelity of
reception.

The master control engineer has a duty which corre-
sponds to that of a railroad dispatcher in a signal office. He
sees that the programs are sent to their proper destination.
He throws the switch which opens the wires for every new
show, and allows for station breaks. This is a highly tech-
nical job, which requires an expert knowledge of the mem-
bers of their associated stations and their facilities.

The transmitting engineer operates the highly sensitive
radio unit, the transmitter, which actually sends the pro-
gram out on the air. He is the last one to check on all
broadcast matter and must hold a license from the federal
government.

l8 RAPE OF RADIO

The NAB, in its booklet, "Your Hat's in the Ring," issues
the following injunctions to the speaker before the mike:

1. Do not cough or sneeze into the microphone. Kate
Smith once reminded an audience that two weeks back she
had sneezed while on the air and within three days she
received 5,000 post cards and letters saying, "Gesundheit."

2. Avoid clearing the throat.

3. Use your voice to reflect your sincerity, intimacy,
knowledge, of the problem.

4. Be friendly. That is radio at its best. Be sincere. Noth-
ing is more convincing.

5. You are speaking to people at home — not in the con-
vention hall. Do not yell your lungs apart. A conversational
tone will win you listeners, — a rasping expression will turn
them away.

6. When you are before the microphone relax.

7. If you are one who needs a few interested people
around to register reactions, ask friends to come in.

8. Keep your lips moist. This avoids speaker's "dry dust."

9. Have your voice checked (well in advance of your radio
period) by the engineer.

10. Speak into the microphone. Take a distance (at the
start) of not less than two feet. Be guided by what the con-
trol room engineer tells you. He is there to help you.

11. If your voice is muffled and indistinct no one will
hear you. Cultivate distinctness of articulation, without ap-
pearing too pedantic by an over crispness.

12. When you hold your written speech up, don't let it
come between your lips and the microphone.

13. Check your script-reading habits with the engineer
again.

14. As you finish speaking each page, drop it to the floor
so it will cause no sound. The WOR research has perfected
a soft paper that will not rattle.

MIKEPHOBIA ig

Microphone Positions

A few simple directions constitute the actor's code of con-
duct before the microphone: i. For average effects the radio
speaker stands about a foot from the microphone. 2. For
loud speech beyond that of the conversational level — step
back from the microphone. 3. Entrances are made about
eight feet away. The level of volume is raised from very
low to natural conversational tone as you approach the
microphone. When approaching the microphone for this
"entrance" effect, keep on talking while you're moving be-
cause if you pause and your voice is heard from a greater
distance, it will sound like that of another person. 4. Vari-
ous modes are accomplished by changing the position or
varying the delivery. In moments of excitation, stand at
some distance from the mike, raise the pitch of the voice
and speak more rapidly. For sympathetic effects, come closer
to the microphone and lower the voice to a murmur. For
the hollow quality of the ghostly laugh, "Ha-ha-ha," start
some feet from the microphone and come up to it. Loyalty
and self devotion — speak quietly with kindly intonations
close to the microphone.

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER

ANYBODY can announce!"
This is the happy belief that has buoyed the hopes
of an army of applicants from the earliest days of the micro-
phone. Youth fired with imagination lost no time in explor-
ing what seemed an easy way to fame. An alarming supply of
announcers shifted from station to station. Nearly twenty
years passed before the cult of the announcer was raised
to the dignity of an organized profession. Today the net-
works employ about three thousand announcers.

October, 1938, marked an important date for the an-
nouncer. It was then that the American Federation of Radio
Artists signed an agreement with NBC which removed the
announcer from the class of over-exploited radio employee.
The contract provided that the senior announcer should
receive $250 per month, while juniors should start at $110
per month and be raised within two years to $175. Instead of
exacting long hours covering a seven-day week, the contract
called for a 44-hour week with two weeks' vacation after a
year's services.

An applicant for the post of announcer is often rudely
shocked to discover his way barred by new standards and
requirements. One no longer enters announcing as upon a
lark. In truth Patrick Kelly, supervisor of announcers at
NBC, warned that "announcing is one of the most exacting
jobs in radio."

Networks today will not consider an announcer unless he
is a college graduate with at least two years' experience at
a small station. He must be adept in ad libbing as shown by
a test ranging from a five to a fifteen minute talk on some

. 20

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 21

topical event. A knowledge of continuity writing and pro-
duction will be expected of him, and he must speak at least
one foreign language. It is not everyone who, like Andre
Baruch, can speak fluent French, Spanish and Italian, and
in addition, creditably strike the native ear in Dutch, Flem-
ish, and Portuguese.

And if standards of announcing have become high, oppor-
tunities have become narrower. The National Broadcasting
Company has perhaps six openings for announcers a year.
For these six openings hundreds of trained announcers audi-
tion and the competition is naturally keen.

The British have their own troubles in selecting an-
nouncers, especially these war days. John Snagge, an official
in charge of testing applicants, complained as late as May,
1940, "Out of more than 2,000 heard only one man has thus
far been chosen, and no woman has made the grade. Not
one person in a thousand can read a news bulletin as it
ought to be read — it is too fast, too slow, too flat, or too
hearty."

The smaller stations have become the training schools for
the announcer. At the smaller station, the announcer has an
opportunity to be on his own as in the early days. He may
be called upon not only to announce, but to create entire
programs, assume charge of production, do the work of the
engineer, display his gifts as a singer, double in brass, and
carry on under difficult conditions.

In the search for experience the applicant is faced with
the stark truth that only by actual performance under the
exigencies of the studio can the announcer be trained. Many
colleges give courses in voice production and microphone
technique, but theory alone will not avail. There is no solu-
tion for the personal problem of getting that announcer's
job on the small stations, which constitutes the experience
that the networks demand. The problem remains much like

22 RAPE OF RADIO

that of the actor or the opera singer trying to get his first
start.

The English with some sense of humor have finally con-
cluded that when the announcer has passed through the first
experience he will emerge. He must be:

1. Six feet in height.

2. Acceptable to Hollywood standards of good looks.

3. Possess a 24-carat voice.

4. Speak eighteen languages.

5. Be able to act as stand-in at a moment's notice in the
program.

6. Radiate charm, dignity, elan, verve, savoir faire, Je ne
sais pas quoi.

7. Have a brilliant individual touch in spontaneous talk
while putting on transcribed records.

From Anonymity to Fame

The old announcer was as free as the air. He went off on
his verbal rounds uncensored, impersonalized, bound by no
restrictions and regulated only by his own sense of the fitness
of things by the initiative of his own choice. Milton J. Cross,
in the earlier days, announced himself as AJN. It was he
who introduced Lindbergh on the air, and served as Mrs.
Roosevelt's first host.

The modern announcer is fortified with scripts, stop
watches, assistants, and engineers. In the early days he was
a factotum who had to struggle with every situation and
emergency. He was station manager, market expert, political
commentator, engineer, narrator of bedtime stories, lecturer
on any and all subjects, program director, continuity editor,
and host.

Graham McNamee introduced himself as a concert singer
when he applied for a job at the studios of the infant WEAF

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 23

in 1922. He would broadcast a whole football game, rest
for an hour or two and do a concert in the evening.

Bill Hay, the perennial Amos 'n' Andy announcer, once
taught piano and ran a radio store. For two years he read
and announced his own program, with potato sacks for
sound-proofing and open windows to admit the air on the
now extinct KFKX of Hastings, Nebraska.

Even as late as 1930, the age of specialization for the an-
nouncer had not yet begun. Ford Bond recalls the routine
of that period: "When I first started announcing for NBC,"
he narrates, "I came to work in the morning with no idea
where I might be by night. We might be ordered to Florida
or Canada without five minutes' notice, and we never knew
whether we were going to announce a baseball game, a con-
cert, or an endurance flight. But that's all changed now.
We know every morning exactly what's lined up for us all
day. The special events are all turned over to special an-
nouncers who are authorities in their respective fields."

The world's pioneer radio announcer was H. W. Arlin,
an electrical engineer employed by the Westinghouse Elec-
tric & Mfg. Co. of Pittsburgh. In 1917 he made his debut
on the air on the company's pioneer station KDKA. Arlin
had no precedents to guide him. Fortunately he was gifted
with precise diction, and a resonant voice, sharp enough
to clear through the imperfect conditions of transmission
and receiving sets. The KDKA transmitting room was
located on the roof of a nine story building. The studio in
effect was a tent. In the spring the sides of the tent were
rolled up so that the broadcast was actually an open-air
affair. A bright light above the microphone illuminated the
area. It was a test for any announcer to know what to say
when a moth hovering around the flame flew into a tenor's
widely opened mouth at the peak of a high note.

The announcer soon emerged from anonymity. Listeners
learned to identify the voice characteristics peculiar to the

24 RAPE OF RADIO

speakers. An audience for the intimate life of public per-
formers had to be satisfied. A curious public wanted to
know more about a man with a voice as friendly and as
earnest as Milton J. Cross. When the true and full name
of the announcer was released, he rose on the crest of pub-
licity and became definitely associated with the station.

The British clung more doggedly to the policy of keeping
announcers entirely out of the limelight. It was only in 1936
that the BBC relented and divulged the names of their
leading announcers with a few details about their per-
sonalities.

And there are those with us today who prefer that certain
types of announcers remain forever in a state of oblivious
anonymity.

The Free Lance Commercial Announcer

Both station and sponsor were slow in realizing that the
experience, knowledge and foresight of the announcer play
a large part in the success of the radio production.

The free-lancer usually has established his name and
vogue on the networks and in some way called attention
to his voice personality. In employing such an announcer
the sponsor avoids taking chances with an unfamiliar vocal
style.

Announcers for the big commercial programs are not
chosen because of their meticulous enunciation. The quali-
ties sought are voice timbre, and an ingratiating style that
is called "ear-arresting." Such announcers as Andre Baruch,
Ken Carpenter, Don Wilson, Jimmy Wallington, and Ben
Grauer, make themselves doubly valuable to their sponsors
as actors in various roles.

By virtue of emoluments alone, the free-lance announcer
is in a class of his own. Removed from the routine of studio
announcing, he is free to accept screen and transcription
work, as well as offers from any sponsor.

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 25

Sometimes accident plays a part in the discovery of an
announcer. A man or a woman might be gifted with a voice
personality that is exactly suited to a specific program, and
that quality transmitted over the air makes him a "natural."
Take the believe-it-or-not story told about Johnny whose
monotoned "Call for Philip Morris" is familiar to all lis-
teners. In 1933, Johnny Roventini was a page boy in the
New Yorker Hotel. The traditional story is that a man came
into the lobby, sat down in a chair and asked Johnny to
page a friend. For five minutes the page boy paced the
corridors and chanted his call. When he returned after fail-
ing in his mission, he was told by the man in the easy chair,
that he had passed an audition for radio. That man in the
chair was an agency man for Philip Morris.

Let there be any new program advanced by a sponsor and
the agency will be on the lookout for the voice whose timbre
conveys a geniality and warmth, — a voice quite natural and
yet with the touch of persuasiveness. Jimmy Wallington
reflects the sponsor's viewpoint in this way: "Before an
announcer can get a commercial program, he must build
up on his sustaining broadcast a feeling of what I call 'good
will' between himself and the public. His next duty is to
sell the good will of the station he works for, and then,
through the faith the public has in him he can sell his
sponsor's product."

The free-lance rise of Harry von Zell is ascribed to Paul
Whiteman. Von Zell began his career as a full-time an-
nouncer for a Hollywood station in 1930. Paul Whiteman at
that time was making a picture and broadcasting at the same
time with Ted Husing as his announcer. When Ted was
called East to broadcast sports, Whiteman had to fill the
vacancy. Three hundred announcers applied for the job
and the task of auditioning seemed formidable. Harry von
Zell, with heartiness and zest in his voice, led all the rest.
Whiteman brought von Zell to New York where he gained

26 RAPE OF RADIO

popular recognition as a CBS staff announcer. So the
agencies lured him from general announcing to the job of
free-lance announcer for the important programs of Fred
Allen, Phil Baker, Walter O'Keefe, Helen Hayes, and the
March of Time.

A background as varied as that of Kelvin Keech would
stand the announcer in good stead. He graduated as an
engineer, became entertainer on the Continental stage,
directed his own jazz band, and broadcast over the BBC.
From general announcing he was called to preside over
such programs as Warden Lawes, Pop-eye, Fireside Recital
and Billy and Betty.

Beginning at WJZ in 1925, John S. Young joined NBC
as staff announcer in 1928; was selected "all- American"
announcer in 1929; gave the first course in radio technique
at New York University in 1932; was the first announcer to
be heard in experimental trans-Atlantic broadcasts and the
first exchange announcer between England and the United
States. He stepped out of the announcing ranks to supervise
all radio activities of the New York World's Fair. As an
announcer, John's voice is internationally known. In the
early days of broadcasting, he was heard on programs sent
out by powerful short-wave stations to Europe. When Pope
Pius appeared before the mike for the first time, Young was
the announcer on the American side. As for talents, he plays
the violin, piano, guitar, banjo, ukulele and vibraharp;
speaks French, German, Italian and Spanish.

Voice Culture

Radio is slowly building up the tradition that the an-
nouncer shall unmistakably impress the listener as a man of
true culture. The listener becomes conscious of the presence
or the absence of the sign of refinement and good breeding.
The sign is the voice.

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 27

Carlton Andrews in a blasting letter to the radio editor
of the New York Times flays those stations that employ
announcers who lack the fundamental qualifications: "If we
grant these invaluable licenses for no fee to commercial
broadcasts, we are at least entitled to full assurance that
their professional spokesmen in our homes shall be gentle-
men of actual education and some degree of true modesty,
whose manners are unfailingly courteous and considerate,
and whose English is trustworthy and genuine and a fit
model for the young."

Announcers must at least speak one language and that
is Standard English, which cannot by its nature display the
warmth of a homey local dialect. In the selection of their
announcers, the networks have settled the mooted questions
of standard speech more decisively than the phoneticians
who have never ceased to wrangle about it. It is safe to say
that standard speech before the radio is speech which is
intelligible to the larger units of population. In this sense
it is not cast in a rigid linguistic mold. It is the compromise
of the common tongue amongst hundreds of localisms and
dialects.

American speech is not a local speech. It is the composite
tongue of a country whose borders stretch three thousand
miles east and west. Many regions have their own peculiari-
ties of speech. There is the sharp twang of New England,
the gusty style of the West, the languorous open vowel
drawl of the South. An announcer whose speech smacks of
the peculiarities of any region may be perfectly understood
in that region. It is standard for that region. If his voice is
flung over the networks, the dialect may be unintelligible
in many sections of the country, however picturesque.

The British have their own problems with variations of
English. Prof. Lloyd James, linguistic adviser to the BBC,
once declared that if he were dictator of the English lan-
guage, for announcer he would choose "the educated Scot-

28 RAPE OF RADIO

tish person, perhaps President Roosevelt, as an international
standard for the English-speaking world. When I hear the
voice of any announcer, I notice (partly consciously and
partly subconsciously) four things about it. One is the actual
quality of the voice; the second is the rise and fall of the
voice; third, the pronunciation of the words; fourth, manner
and style."

Radio announcers may be divided into three classes:
(i) cultured; (2) pseudo-cultured; (3) under-cultured or
vulgar. The pseudo-cultured announcer gives the listener
the impression of a superior soul who never quite releases
himself from the role of a star performer. Sentences roll out
with rich rhythms and requirements of sense give way to
cacophonies. Carlton Andrews ascribes this manner to the
ham tradition which radio has fostered. To the ear of the
radio fan such pretense and affectation are often accepted as
comedy effects. The announcer who talks as if he had a
monocle in his throat is growing rare.

The cultured announcer is more impersonal in delivering
his message. He does not call attention to himself because
of his peculiarities in speech or a manner unsuited to the
occasion. He stands out as a man of culture because his
culture does not obtrude. His diction is neither over-precise
nor slurred. He knows the living language. He affects
neither elocutionary airs nor vulgar deflections.

Radio directors have stressed the importance of flexibility
in the voice of the announcer. The most agreeable voice
is adapted to the spirit of the occasion. A formal and dig-
nified program will call for a just decorum in voice, but
the announcer will have to change his vocal manner at a
hilarious Al Jolson get-together party. If he puts crepe over
his voice, he would soon hear from the fans.

The aim of the BBC has been to create a sort of standard
accent which would be dignified, understood by every one,
and strike a happy medium between all the dialects spoken

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 2Q

in the country. An advisory committee has been set up to
decide on the pronunciation of difficult words. All the mem-
bers of the committee speak good English, yet they can
muster at least six dialects amongst them.

It is no easy task to decide which pronunciation is the
correct one. One of the words about which there was doubt
was "capuchin." Listeners suggested there were fourteen
different ways of pronouncing the word.

Occasionally even the best announcers exaggerate the
vocal touch. It is quite easy to influence people to tune you
out by the use of the wrong vocal qualities. Howard Clancy
who introduced Toscanini at the first of the NBC Philhar-
monic Broadcasts almost accomplished this result. He spoke
in a hushed and awed voice, as though the program were
too stupendous for human ears. All this requires an intuitive
understanding of the situation and an ability to use the
voice to express the feeling and the meaning of the written
word.

Airing Your Personality

Far more important than the mastery of studio rules, and
the possession of a good voice, are the subtleties of per-
sonality which the microphone reveals. The personality of
the announcer is measured by his natural and acquired gifts.
Education and experience are important but there are
certain characteristics which seem to be born with the
announcer.

A director may be favorably impressed with a man's voice
when he talks to him face to face, but when the candidate
tries to get that voice through the loud speaker, it somehow
loses its quality. It comes over dead and flat. It lacks the
sparkle that makes microphone "voice personality." Surveys
indicate that the lower tenor and baritone voices of the
male register most agreeably. Occasionally a bass manages
to capture popular fancy.

30 RAPE OF RADIO

The announcer's most important natural gift is his "voice
personality." No exact definition of this term can be given.
It might be described subjectively as a certain kindly and
friendly tone which impels the listener to meet the living
possessor of the voice.

The United Press on March 28, 1939, reported one item
that classically illustrates the power of the radio voice. A
certain Mrs. Agnes Mae Watson of Dorchester, Mass., died
and left $500 to Bill O'Connell, an announcer for the Yan-
kee and Colonial networks. The attorney who contested the
will on behalf of relatives claimed that Mrs. Watson had
hallucinations and that "she had acquired an overwhelming
passion, affection and love for Bill O'Connell." Counsel for
the beneficiary countered that she was not mentally unsound
but "merely a radio fan."

The affection with which an announcer is held by his
public may not go so far as to induce his listeners to leave
him money bequests, but the regard is none the less genuine.

Sponsored programs brought into being the "free-lance
announcer." In a special sense, the free-lance announcer is
a commercial attach^, a super-salesman acting for the
sponsor. Today he is in the preferred class. The life and
death of many a program depend on him. The station always
provided the announcer for each commercial program at no
extra cost, but the Agency accustomed to assembling its own
talent, began to engage its own announcers and treated them
as though they were performers or artists. The "guest" an-
nouncer soon became a fixture.

Atmospheric Announcing

The most difficult task of the master of ceremonies is to
establish the proper atmosphere for special programs, or
extravaganza productions like the "Show Boat." Frank
Mclntyre who assumed the role of Captain Henry of the

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 31

Show Boat had to adapt himself to the art of the em cee.
He gives this close-up of his method in Radio Guide:

"I have to be master of ceremonies, announcer and actor.
The master of ceremonies on a program like Show Boat
must lend color to the whole hour, blend it together, with
only his voice to help him. Here is the method I use. The
band plays a hot number and finishes. I chuckle, and say:
'So that was the King of Swing, eh Gus? I reckon that makes
you the power behind the throne.' The next number is a
romantic solo to be sung by Lanny Ross. My job is to make
a transition from the mood of the band number to the mood
of the solo. The orchestra begins the faint background music
to introduce Lanny. I temper my voice to the mood and say,
in a gentle dreamy tone:

" 'Just sit back in your seats for a minute folks. Close
your eyes and think of the things we all love to dream
about — springtime — romance — stars — youth and moonlight.
These are the things our dreams are made of — and they
are the things our handsome leading man is singing about,
right nowl Lanny Ross, folks, singing "A Rendezvous With a
Dream," — Introducing Tim and Irene, I use a tone suited to
the worthy and dignified number which the "Liebestraum"
is. This is how you blend the parts of the program together
and prepare the audience for what is coming."

Beware the Diction Award!

The American Academy of Arts and Sciences endeavored
to aid and abet a better diction in radio announcers. In 1929
the Academy established an annual medal award. By the
time the fourth annual award came around the committee
was ready to show its influence: "We have found the deci-
sion more difficult for the reason that the general level for
announcers has risen."

Hamlin Garland, Chairman of the Committee for the

32 RAPE OF RADIO

Radio Diction Award, made known the criteria: "It is a
mistake to assume that the medal for good diction over radio
is for the best announcer. It is given for good diction on
the radio. After all, we can hear only a few of the thousands
of announcers scattered all over the States. What this medal
means is that the winner has the hightest markings in articu-
lation, pronunciation, freedom from local accent, freedom
from strident or nasal tone and for general effect as to taste
and scholarship. There may be announcers somewhere in
America superior to the winner, but our committee is not
concerned with hypothetical cases.

"We are not concerned with mere popularity. Fluency,
humor, picturesqueness of phrase, are all right in their way,
but they do not enter into the competition."

Formality Versus Informality

The cult of announcers whose fetish was over-precision
and exaggerated tonalities had succeeded in establishing a
class distinction. In 1935 came a shift to the left in the
campaign to inject more friendliness and naturalness into
announcing. The radio editor of the New York Times,
Orrin E. Dunlap, Jr., recently analyzed this trend: "An-
nouncers have endeavored to sail a straight line between
formality and informality in broadcasting, but have gen-
erally found it difficult to get away from the formal side.
Listeners strongly favor the informal approach, which they
testify affords a welcome relief from the staccato, 'drama-
tized' blasts of the errorless, trained announcer.

"Today the trick is to handle the program with a natural
flair that makes the unseen audience feel that it is almost
present in the studio. To do that by reading what some
one else has written is not easy, but there is evidence that
it can be done."

No announcer who has employed a formal manner to

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 33

excess has long remained on the air. The listener is averse
to the elocutionary skills of one who is using the microphone
to show how pleased he is with his own voice. An over-smart
precision which cuts consonants as if with a scalpel destroys
the proper pace of conversation by the unusual and unvary-
ing stress on single phonetic elements.

Even the learned Professor Lloyd James takes a sharp
critical attitude toward the over perfect announcers. As
linguistic advisor of the British Broadcasting Corporation,
and supervisor of announcers, he is in a position to under-
stand the popular ear.

"The chief point about the announcers is that they are
all too slick — they all sound too respectable," said Professor
James. "I think one of the great problems is to reduce this
over-refinement. There is no person in this world who sets
his face against this so-called Oxford accent more than I do."

The early success of Norman Brokenshire was due to his
folksy manner. The audience was taken in by his jovial greet-
ing, "How do you DO, everybody, how DO you DO." His
voice had an intimate touch, a breezy quality that was
intriguing, — a manner imitated by scores of announcers
without success.

No one will deny that despite the arguments of the
pedants, radio listeners really do not like the academically
perfect speakers. They prefer an informal and "human"
approach, even if the delivery is slightly defective. No one
is advised, however, to set to work to become "slightly de-
fective." It is all part of a natural manner.

Clyde Fitch Harris, the pioneer manager of WHAS, evalu-
ates the announcer in his "Microphone Memories":

"The greatest gift of the announcer is an ability to create
within himself a fourth dimension, without which a man
may have mastered those other requirements, and by stop-
ping there remain perhaps an acceptable announcer, but
never 'tops.' Ears perceive with great acuteness and register

34 RAPE OF RADIO

upon minds a picture of the man himself. Listeners some-
times call it personality, magnetism, or charm. Basically it
may be any or all of these. But transcending them is that
which in lieu of a better word, I call the fourth dimension."

The first recipients of this award were: Milton J. Cross,
Alwyn Bach, David Ross, John Holbrook and James Wal-
lington. In 1934 the Academy skipped the award because of
failing interest, which was again revived the following year,
when the coveted medal was conferred upon Alois Havrillas.

Critics have complained, however, that the effects upon
speech instead of being salutary have definitely veered
toward standardization. The whole clan of announcers
imitate each other's style and in a sense have become the
standardized medal voice of America.

A note of protest comes from Columbia University.
"American radio announcers who win diction prizes are
poor models for speech students," says Prof. George W.
Hibbett, of the English faculty. "The prize winners usually
have an artificial mode of speech not characteristic of any
section of the country."

The temptation of the announcer to ape his successful
fellow announcer is berated by Basil Ruysdael, who for years
was a basso at the Metropolitan Opera House before he
became a top-notcher on the networks. He unblushingly
submits the routine of "how announcers get that way":
"Eight or ten or twelve hours a day talking about every-
thing from Iceland's fish to the latest war; copy handed them
at the last minute; no knowledge of any product that they
may be trying to sell; a parish class catching a boot from
the president of the station down to the page boys; strug-
gling with a limited vocabulary to encompass the simple
pronunciation of the toughest language on earth — What is
the result? A 'style' developed from a core of contingencies
and dismal, unrewarded monotony.

"If an announcer is a 'weak sister/ " continues Ruysdael,

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 35

"he will attempt to imitate the style of some more successful
brother, and that is fatal, for unless a man is himself he is
not sincere, and if he is not sincere he will not convince,
he will not sell goods, including himself.

"Unless a man has an analytical mind he will not get too
far announcing, for there are no books to guide him, and
no teachers to be had. This is written to try and make the
new year a more tolerant one for a really fine class of men.
I hold no brief for the style boys, the imitators and the
pounders. Their stay is brief enough as it is."

Blame for formalism in speech cannot wholly be placed
on the diction awards of various private and public insti-
tutions. If they have set false norms for over-ambitious
announcers, they at least have done much to raise the
standards of broadcasting. Deciding prize awards in the arts
is always a matter of great difficulty, and at least as John
Erskine says: "The result of such awards is helpful and
stimulating because they are likely to help discussion. Dis-
cussion that follows the award probably does more good than
the prize."

Small wonder was that the receipt of the diction medal
became somewhat of a jinx. The point was reached where
announcers dreaded being selected for the citation, and
Dinty Doyle recalls that every announcer who ever won it
subsequently suffered reverses: "Milton J. Cross, Alwyn
Bach, James Wallington, John S. Young, John Holbrook
and David Ross, all were doing all right, until the diction
award was bestowed on them."

Adaptable Announcing

The announcer may not be master of his own voice. The
sponsor may demand that he employ certain inflections and
take on a vocal quality that is agreeable to the sponsor.
Experiences show that the manner of voice may depend

36 RAPE OF RADIO

upon the type of copy. The classifications of voice styles we
give are not intended to be complete but are intended to
be merely suggestive.

1. The punchy type: The staccato voice of high pressure
in salesmanship. The effect is that of the pounding of a
hammer. Each successive blow of the voice rivets the matter
home. The punch copy generally consists of short snappy
sentences. Andre Baruch heard in such programs as "Just
Plain Bill" and "Evening in Paris" is master of this style,
in spite of which he advises: "I always visualize one or two
people sitting in a home and talk directly to them. The
more conversational an announcer can make his delivery,
the better." What Baruch probably means is the conversa-
tion yell.

2. Smooth rhythms in voice: This style belongs to the
intimate copy. The announcer gently and kindly insinuates
that the listener's life is not complete without buying the
product and that for his own sweet sake he must give it a
trial, since it costs no more than the other kind and is much
more effective. Think of the smooth voice of Ben Bernie
gently high-hat, agreeably superior.

3. The effusive and gushing type: This is affected mainly
by women announcers — beauty and cooking experts, fashion
advisors, home makers. The same is true of many male
announcers who have been air salesmen of women's wear
and accessories.

4. The rollicky laughter type: This is the most difficult
trick in voice. Announcers generally do not feel funny
enough to make their efforts seem real. The comedian who
laughs at his own jokes as an air salesman often fails dis-
mally.

5. The reverential tone: The tone is exalted, sometimes
hushed and awed, but always winds up with the manner of
one who will save our souls if we will only but let him.

6. "You-dont-have-to-believe-me" intonation: This is the

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 37

announcer who puts on the pretension of fairness permitting
the listener to apply his own judgment. Such mannerisms
are not the rule because sponsors usually prefer the dogmatic
approach.

7. The sentimental quality: The voice takes on the flavor
of wooing rhythm. Generally the announcer speaks to a
musical background. Such dreamy quality is not justified
by a sales message void of imagery.

8. Over-precise, over-pedantic, over-careful approach:
Such speakers articulate consonant sounds and separate their
syllables as if they were proving they knew how to spell. To
get the effect of such, announcers place particular stress on
each syllable in the words: in-sti-tu-tion, of-ten. The average
listener gets the feeling that such announcers are going
' 'high-hat" and will fall over their furniture in their haste
to tune them out.

9. The corny, "Hello folks!" type, in the manner of Bob
Burns.

10. The thundering announcer: The sponsor hopes to
give his program distinction by having his announcer talk
louder than anyone else in radio. "You can't blame the an-
nouncer for it," said Peter Dixon in one of his commentaries
in the New York Sun. "Usually the announcer is acting un-
der orders from the sponsor who seems to take great delight
in having his sales message shouted." They hold the center
of the stage and chew the scenery while they tear a com-
mercial pattern to tatters. Eddie Thorgersen was probably
the first of the bellowing school — and through no fault of
his own. Under orders, Thorgersen shouted forth the merits
of a certain brand of cigarettes until he was christened
"Thundering Thorgersen." Eddie grew to hate his job. He
even worked long hours over-time in order to do another
type of announcing on another program — and a very pleas-
ing job he did too. Though his bellow paid him well for a

38 RAPE OF RADIO

time, there was no job waiting for Eddie when he had fin-
ished with that cigarette program. Finally he left radio,
though you still hear but may not recognize his voice behind
some of the news-reels.

An Examination for Announcers

Under Mayor LaGuardia of New York City, the municipal
broadcasting station WNYC placed its entire announcing
staff under the Civil Service. Applicants were required to
take an extensive written test and the practical test before
the microphone. In 1938 over a thousand candidates applied
for the position and they sat down to a six hour written quiz
from which a few of the questions follow:

The best way to evaluate a radio program is to count the
number of its listeners. Is this a valid statement? Why or
why not?

Every radio program should be an entity which is com-
plete in and of itself. Do you agree?

Radio action must be concerned with that which is
familiar to the listener. Do you agree?

Silence is one of the best of all sound effects. Is this a valid
statement? Why or why not?

List the methods of scoring used and the parts or intervals
into which each of the following is divided: Football;
hockey; basketball.

Write a fifty-word announcement in introduction to the
radio presentation of a typical Army-Navy football game.

Can any radio program be entirely devoid of propaganda?

State the nature of three amendments to the New York
State Constitution which were approved in the recent elec-
tion.

Name three functions of the Federal Communications
Commission.

Write a fifty-word announcement on the purpose of the

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 39

Lima Conference in introduction to the radio presentation
of a talk on Pan-American relations.

Write a fifty-word announcement on the extent to which
New York City has developed a public housing program in
introduction to a talk on housing in New York City.

Write a fifty-word announcement on the provisions of the
new Wages and Hours Bill in introduction to a talk on in-
dustrial legislation.

Explain briefly the following musical terms: Oratorio,
concerto, fugue, symphony, sonata, tone poem.

Write a fifty-word announcement on Liszt suitable in in-
troduction to the radio presentation of the Hungarian Rhap-
sody No. 2.

The second part of the examination tested the candidates'
knowledge of English. The candidate was asked to define a
list of words such as: Diapason, bucolic, spoliate, succinct,
etymology, etc.

A Test for Announcers

A large part of broadcasting deals with music. You will
therefore be asked to read material dealing with composers
and their compositions. In an instant your familiarity with
the foreign languages can be determined. Below is a sample
audition given aspiring announcers by the Columbia Broad-
casting System.

"Among other prominent musical directors you will hear
are Gustave Haenschen and his orchestra, the Detroit Sym-
phony under the direction of Ossip Gabrilowitsch, featuring
Jascha Heifetz and Fritz Kreisler as guest soloists. Ignace
Jan Paderewski will accompany a concert featuring the
phenomenal youngster, Jehudi Menhuin, while Ernestine
Schumann-Heink will sing the Erl King of Franz Schubert.

"Among the other composers you will hear are Jacob

40 RAPE OF RADIO

Ludwig, Felix Mendelssohn, Johann Sebastian Bach, Lud-
wig von Beethoven, Charles Camille, Saint-Saens, Richard
Strauss (the famous Till Eulenspiegels) — Richard Wagner,
Moszkowski, Cesar Cui, Giacomo Meyerbeer, Guiseppe
Verdi, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Carl Maria von Weber,
Christoph Willibald von Gluck, Gioachino Antonio Rossini,
Vincenzo Bellini, Gaetano Donizetti, Arrigo Boito and Amil-
care Ponchielli, closing with Hector Louis Berlioz, Friedrich
von Flotow, Charles Francois Gounod, Ambroise Thomas
and Alexandre C. L. George Bizet. We regret that we will be
unable to present the works of Giacomo Puccini as they are
at present under restriction."

And finally try this bit of stuff judiciously prepared for
aspiring announcers. Bob Cunningham, program director of
KIOL, Omatya, devised a paragraph not intended as a
standard test, but used mainly on staff announcers:

"Some aspirants regard an announcer's audition as a
chance for a coup; others with all the apparent symptoms of
the ague. However formidable it may appear to be, it is best
to enter into it with all the savoir faire at your command;
much as an Irishman enters a melee — to be enjoyed, win or
lose. A bona fide announcer will do the best he can with
words he doesn't know, and will try sincerely, even though
he misses."

Announcers might take lessons on tongue twisters from
Harry von Zell. Every week a script writer pores through the
dictionary hunting up tough words for Harry to read in in-
troducing Fred Allen Wednesday nights. This is one sample:
"Presenting that lackadaisical leviathan of laconic lampoon,
laughter loving lullabies and ludicrous linguistic leap-frog
and legerdemain, Fred Allen in person." Or try to race
through this at the von Zell pace: "That rip-roaring rococo
Romeo of ridiculous roguish rigmarole, rhapsodic repartee
and romping roundelay."

This has been going on all season, a new one each week,

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 41

and so far Harry hasn't tripped once. The script writer
swears he'll get Harry before the season is out.

Try This on Your Enunciator

(A sample of the type of test given to aspiring announcers
by the Columbia Broadcasting System. Columbia says that
the man who can handle it without mistake is a rare one and
a well educated person.)

"Judging by the demands made upon the modern radio
announcer, that unfortunate individual must, indeed, be
a perambulating encyclopedia or the ancient curator of some
Atheneum, for whom the entire subject of belles-lettres has
become the sine qua non of the intelligent citizen. What is
more, he is expected to air his profound knowledge with the
terseness of an apothegm and with the easy grace of a ro-
mantic caballero. He must deliver himself of bromidic cliches
with the same facility as of the profundities of the bel-
esprit; perhaps, too, he must accede to the demands of the
etymological efforts of some client who has used the roots
of several classical tongues in the concoction of some bon
mot with which to dub his superlative product. Although it
has not been our aim to discourage the applicant, we might
warn the esthetic aspirant that many months of the life of
a broadcast announcer might easily hurl him into the very
depths of asceticism."

The Art of Ad-libbing

Announcers are divided into two groups, those who read
prepared scripts and those who are thrown upon their own
resources on the instant. The announcers who broadcast
the dispatches of the United Press and other news associa-
tions are mere copy readers.

42 RAPE OF RADIO

Many well-known studio announcers, and among them
David Ross, admit that their routine never requires them
to ad-lib a single sentence. Jimmy Wallington shows ready
talent as an ad-libber, and Ben Grauer of CBS has been
tested in every situation requiring facile speaking without
script.

An important test is your ability to think fast on your feet.
At any moment, you may be forced to speak extemporane-
ously or to fill in a "wait" or a gap. An announcer may be
able to read from a script perfectly but prove to be inept
when faced with a special problem. The networks prefer
those announcers who do not grope for words during an
emergency.

Through habit and experience an announcer should learn
these rules of action: i, Think fast. 2, Speak smoothly. 3,
Speak accurately. 4, Do not lose your head.

In a Chicago studio Jean Paul King is announcing a
homemaker's program in which Grace Gray is talking on
home decorations. The lady commences to talk. She talks
for about three minutes and then becomes faint. She sways
and is about to fall. Well, — what to do?

This is what Jean Paul King does. He catches hold of
Miss Gray's limp form with his left arm, and clings to the
script with his right hand, speaks directly into the micro-
phone, "As Grace Vial Gray was going to say ..." At this
point the control man rushes from his booth to carry the
fainting lady away from the microphone.

The average staff announcer on the networks has been
deprived of the privilege of ad-libbing. He has been reduced
to the status of a mere reader. He may not even mention
his name at will. He is furnished with a script and from
that script he must not depart. Any variation from the
script comes under the head of emergency announcing.

Experience has made it possible for the networks to cata-

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 43

logue the usual breaks. The announcer is provided with a
manual which contains the exact words to be used for
emergency announcing. Let us presume that the program
fails to start within its allotted forty-five seconds of the sched-
uled time: the CBS announcer, to meet this emergency, has
but to turn to his manual which reads: "We regret that due
to operating difficulties, we are unable to present immedi-
ately the program . In the meantime, we offer ."

Each broadcasting station has its own set of rules for the
announcers but the regulations are much the same. An-
nouncers must not attempt to be facetious. No puns, no
wisecracks about song titles or situations. Analysis shows
that the average announcer is very apt to become boring
if he attempts extended ad-lib descriptions. The commentary
furnished him is, therefore, limited to brief and concise
statements.

It is regarded as poor showmanship to call attention to the
closing of the program. Announcers are warned to avoid
introducing a concluding number with phrases such as:

"Finally the orchestra presents ," "In conclusion," or

"Closing the program ," Better leave such finishing

impressions alone.

Certain other regulations might also be mentioned. The
networks frown on the frequent use of "Ladies and Gentle-
men" or the abuse of such trite phrases as "This time we
bring you," "Now we hear" and "Now we present." Even
during multiple-point news broadcasts, the announcer is
urged to avoid such phrases as "Thank you, Mr. - — ." An-
nouncers must refrain, wherever possible, from referring to
the period of the day. A New York announcer might be say-
ing, "We present this afternoon," when it is still morning
in California. The public for some unexplained reason is
presumed to resent being reminded of this difference in
time.

44 RAPE OF RADIO

Enter — The New Radio Ringmaster

The variety program brought into being a super-an-
nouncer known as "Master of Ceremonies" which radio
abbreviates as "em cee." The radio em cee is just a new ver-
sion of the interlocutor of the old minstrel show, the chair-
man of the English music-hall, the compere of the conti-
nental music revue and the toast-master of the banquet hall.

Radio has established new duties for the em cee. He tells
the listener everything that in the theater can be seen with
the naked eye. He describes the numbers, identifies the per-
formers and sets the stage with the right verbal touch which
enables listeners to "see."

Earlier routines of the em cee were baldly to introduce the
singer or performer and give the title of his selection: "Next
Al Jolson will sing 'Mammy'." Someone conceived the no-
tion that announcements in themselves might be couched
in an entertaining fashion. Something brilliant and scintil-
lating could be conveyed in a few words of introduction. A
new routine required a line of patter and thus the em cee
became a definite part in the pattern of entertainment.

Translated into his new role under the exigencies of the
variety program, the em cee became the suave butler of the
air who ushers guest performers into the home with the
happiest approach. Deems Taylor finds that the variety pro-
gram affords the widest scope to the talents of the em cee
because of its admixture of performers.

The Discovery of the Em Cee

Sponsors at first experimented with members of the reg-
ular announcing group. Many of these announcers schooled
in the artificial manner, utterly failed to vitalize the pro-
gram. It was necessary to go outside the announcing field to
discover new voices.

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 45

Let us glance backwards a few years. The sponsor was
slow to encourage his advertising agency to enlist the liter-
ary man. An unusual gift of geniality and culture was found
in John Erskine as em cee on the series of guest star pro-
grams inaugurated by Katherine Hepburn over NBC. In
1936, radio turned to Cecil de Mille, Rupert Hughes, and
John McCormack, whom we shall consider briefly.

The Lux Radio Theater and the Hollywood industry
placed the toga of em cee on the shoulders of Cecil de Mille.
Here was a man to be respected. Indeed the giant of the
movies has a sincerity of voice, a quiet and calm that "gets"
the listener. However, de Mille can make his words sound
silly when he is constantly gushing over the charm of his
performers, who in turn pay him the same fulsome compli-
ments. Radio has fostered this oleaginous introducing of
stars who call each other tenderly by their first names. All
of this business is written into the script. This induces an
overdone "folksy" attitude, and the em cee is soon suspected
of playing false with the listener.

Rupert Hughes in the role of em cee was not blessed with
what radio producers call a good radio voice. But on the
Camel program he made up for his lack of resonance and
fresh quality by the fatherly manner of a genial host who is
glad you are listening. Even when extolling the virtues of
a cigarette, he has a genuineness, and that is what counts
most.

Let us identify a few prominent exponents of the art.
Jimmy Wallington first came into national prominence as
a dignified master of ceremonies presiding over short wave
programs broadcast to Admiral Richard E. Byrd on his first
voyage to the South Pole. In 1930, when recalled to New
York by NBC, Wallington swerved from his duties as em cee
to the career of straight man for Cantor, Chevalier, Benny,
Jessel and other comedians.

As for Rudy Vallee, he won his radio spurs as a crooner.

46 RAPE OF RADIO

He established a new personality as em cee on his own Va-
riety Hour. Quite seriously, he cultivated his speaking voice
until every word carried a sense of friendly intention. Every
leading performer is identified by the phrase of greeting
with which he opens the program. The first words must
carry that warmth, the warmth which listeners would expect
of their friends.

In the free and informal manner of the em cee lies the
danger of cheap wit, vulgarisms and undue familiarities with
the performers. It is difficult to trace this tendency but Ted
Husing in "Ten Years Before the Mike" ascribes it to the
first attempts of certain radio characters to throw comedy
into the bored American home. These were essentially par-
lor entertainers, amateur comedians and philosophers and
neighborhood celebrities. "Even New York City had one
of them," explains Husing, " 'N.T.G.' of Station WHN, an
ex-preacher named Nils Thor Granlund, and known to his
friends as Granny. He clowned, read poetry in exaggerated
ham fashion, insulted performers at the mike, and started
the first phoney radio feud — with Harry Richman, whom
he introduced to the air."

Not every species of em cee humor is understood by the
radio audience. There are those who would be offended by
Alan Courtney's manner as em cee on a WNEW program
called "Din at Eight." Instead of following the old custom
of praising all his artists lavishly, Courtney jovially insults
them, brings them to the microphone in a shower of what is
meant for good natured abuse and warns the audience. The
masterful em cee like James Melton can sing, act in any role,
make himself the foil for guest stars or comedians and build
up the unfailing verbal bridges that link the performers.

The average radio program is a pretty heterogeneous
affair, frequently deserving the name "Program" only in
that it begins and ends at a specified time. It usually man-
ages to offer, in the space of forty-five or sixty minutes, an

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 47

assortment of strange bedfellows that makes politics look
like an amateur. Mix together an opera singer, a crooner,
a jazz band, a few minutes of melodrama, a comedian, and
a violin virtuoso, to say nothing of two or three sales talks,
and you have something that brings to mind Stephen Lea-
cock's immortal hero who "Mounted his horse and rode
rapidly off in all directions."

The task of the em cee is not simple. He must definitely
blend all the numbers on the program with appropriate
transitions so that the show builds up with a unified spirit
and plan. Each and every part somehow becomes integrated
with the entire production. The trick is achieved by racy
dialogue between em cee and the performers. All this helps
produce the "company" effect which intrigues the listener
into the belief that its members are one family of enter-
tainers.

The Genius of Geniality

What makes a successful em cee? The first and most im-
portant asset of an em cee is geniality. His manner gives the
audience the impression of the good fellow who will pat
you on the back as if he had known you all your life, then
will introduce you to the people with easy assurance. He
somehow manages to say the right thing at the right time.
It is for this reason that Bing Crosby with his lackadaisical
witticisms quickly "gets the audience." He blends the parts
of the program by the use of quick repartee skillfully studied
to end in a gag line. When there is a comedian on the pro-
gram the continuity is woven about the personal characteris-
tics of the performers. It has become the custom to impress
the em cee with the job of straight man. In such case, the
problem of the em cee is to relate his method to the com-
edian's style and to adapt himself as a stooge.

A program which may be otherwise quite creditable is
made ineffably dull by an em cee who is a third rate co-

48 RAPE OF RADIO

median. Instead of keeping the movement lively and ani-
mated such an em cee succeeds in making it limp. The em
cee who essays the comedy role must be to the manner born.
A number of band leaders have climbed into public favor
as em cees of their programs. Everybody remembers "Heigh,
ho! Everybody, this is Rudy Vallee!" There is Horace Heidt,
and Ben Bernie, and Paul Whiteman. Bernie and Heidt in-
terrupt the music with repartee. Dorsey is a jovial conver-
sationalist. Chatter unless it is pointed soon annoys. The
average band leader should confine himself to his baton.
Kay Kayser as a talking band leader has become one of the
network's better comedians, but his quiz formula may soon
fade. A band leader must decide whether he is a comedian
or a musician.

Humanizing the Program

Today the em cee carries the burden of humanizing the
musical classics of the world. This type of em cee is an added
feature of even the most important musical concerts. The
aim of such announcing is to take the great and near great
in music and bring them down to the common level. The
script calls for familiar joking, calling celebrities by their
first name, and exposing them to a merciless badinage. A
few of the mighty like Arturo Toscanini are spared this
personal approach. Imagine what would happen to Bing
Crosby if he congratulated Toscanini with a familiarism
like: "Attaboy Arturo!"

Al Jolson calls Deems Taylor "Deemsie" and Bing Crosby
hails Toscha Seidel "Toscha" and the distinguished Ernest
Schelling is dubbed "Uncle Ernie." This is an invitation for
the musically great to cut capers around the microphone.

The familiar attitude of the em cee has been referred to as
a "humanizing method." In reality it often dehumanizes and
at best is a vulgar kind of condescension that stands for

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 49

humor and is supposed to make the masses feel at home with
the artist.

The sponsors defend such a method: "Dialers want to
know the performers as real folks, and they enjoy them be-
cause they are 'regular.' " The sponsor formula of making
a performer "regular" usually consists in taking the artist
off his high and mighty throne by having the em cee lash
the performer with gags in a way that only radio will permit.
For the moment dignity is surrendered and the artist is on
the sponsor's level.

The Em Cee as a Musical Commentator

The very name of a music commentator should carry
weight and authority. This implies that the commentator
has not only an extensive technical background, but in addi-
tion is able to interpret for a large public the significance
of important creative works. Critics like Deems Taylor and
Lawrence Gilman had already established themselves through
their writings before the advent of radio. The new medium
enabled the critics to spread musical appreciation to a new
listening public that never bothered its head to read musical
press notices.

The music commentator can be most boring or most fas-
cinating. Much will depend on his approach in voice and the
selection of his material. It may be too much of an ideal to
expect that he make his talks as enjoyable as the orchestra
itself.

Deems Taylor, Chotzinoff, Damrosch and Black have es-
sayed the role of em cee with distinction. Deems Taylor is
Director of Serious Music at NBC and Samuel Chotzinoff
occupies a similar position at CBS.

Dr. Walter Damrosch, Director of NBC's Music Appre-
ciation Hour, proved that technicalities could be reduced
to the level of children and the most initiated listeners.

1065824

50 RAPE OF RADIO

Dr. Frank Black who once became commentator as well
as conductor of his string symphony concerts declared: "I
will not be technical, because I don't think music lovers
like to be bored by the fact that triplet figures enter into the
descending theme in juxtaposition to the inverted chief
melody. I would like to tell them that in this spot, the com-
poser tried to ape one of the good composers of jazz or that
he may have gotten a little beyond his depth."

The music commentator as em cee is setting new standards
in music criticism over the air. The critic's judgment should
be finely balanced. Criticism should not be synonymous with
fault finding, as Deems Taylor puts it. He says, "He doesn't
blame a waltz for not being a symphony and he doesn't
abuse a street fiddler for not being a Mischa Elman." He
emphasizes the merits rather than the faults of a composi-
tion. In short, the music commentator must know the struc-
ture of criticism so as to make the radio audience feel that
he is just and fair in respecting everyone's taste.

The method of Deems Taylor, ever since he appeared on
the very first broadcast CBS aired in 1922, might be studied
to advantage. He is perhaps at his best when he interprets
the selections of the Philharmonic Orchestra from Carnegie
Hall in New York.

First, Taylor is a model of restraint. He abounds in in-
formation without being pedantic. He gets down to earth,
but never condescends. If he were to talk as a high and
mighty critic he would fail dismally. It is a subtle art to
spread the canons of good taste and yet leave the listener
free to exercise his own judgment.

Second, Taylor writes every word of the script himself,
and from the deep fund of his knowledge he can draw on
the right sources. He employs light material for his introduc-
tions and then swerves into more serious discourse as the
nature of the subject demands. All this implies the gift of
selecting material that will both instruct and entertain. Tay-

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 51

lor may spend from five to six hours on a twelve-minute
script. Newsweek quotes him as saying that during these
hours he "practically lives with a dictionary because 'the
minute one makes a slip over the radio there are thousands
who don't wait a minute to write about it'."

Third, the fact that Taylor writes his own script enables
him to adapt his style to his own mannerisms in voice. He
may repeat a sentence forty times before he is sure it sounds
completely casual and natural. Instead of hearing a learned
man reading an encyclopedia extract, the listener catches
the friendly voice of a man who neither poses as critic nor
superimposes himself as commentator.

What is the secret of this colloquial touch that seems some-
how to engage the willing ear and confidence of the listener?
In a recent issue of Stage, Deems Taylor himself discloses:
"We don't talk as we write," he explains. "We use broken
phrases, unfinished sentences, repetition. When I write my
radio script I always talk it along. If I just wrote the thing
it wouldn't sound right over the microphone. I can't sound
convincing reading someone else's words."

The Em Gee in Audience Anticipation

Programs requiring audience participation demand the
services of a director who at the same time must be a master-
ful em cee. His success depends upon his spontaneous gift
of humor, his play on words, a sparkle of sentiment, and
above all on an understanding of the psychology of the indi-
vidual. In this type of program is included the Amateur
Hours, the best exponent of which is Major Bowes' Original.

Not every announcer can go through the school of ex-
perience which J. E. (Dinty) Doyle calls attention to in a pro-
gram which originated at KFRC, San Francisco, some ten
years ago. Each Monday night a two-hour show was staged
known as Blue Monday Jamboree. The announcer who pre-

52 RAPE OF RADIO

sided over this Jamboree had unequalled opportunity to
test his talent on a program which was composed of com-
munity singing, spelling bees, bridge games, an amateur
department, questions and answers, knotty problems, inter-
views with movie stars and people prominent in the news,
and of remote controls which sent men with mikes to gab
with people in front of the entrances to San Francisco's
famous hotels.

The em cee should be cautious in the use of his adjectives
especially if he is ad-libbing. Adjectives like great, magnifi-
cent, extraordinary, carry great weight. Audiences resent
such exaggerations in the face of a mediocre performance. It
is a mistake to suppose the public is neither wise nor critical
when the em cee builds up a very ordinary performer into
a commanding artist. If such exaggerations are written into
the script the em cee is in danger of losing popularity. You
can't fool the people all the time.

The humanized tone of the em cee should pervade the
entire program. It keeps the microphone warm and glow-
ing. The problem is to speak with enthusiasm and whole-
someness so that what is being spoken becomes entertain-
ment in itself.

The Em Cee as Comedian

The abundant use of gags by the em cee follows the device
of vaudeville. In the theater the em cee filled the unavoidable
gap between numbers when the scenery had to be changed.
He kept up a steady stream of patter to keep the audience
in good humor. Today the radio em cee is obliged to fill a
similar function for the listener. While there is no scenery
to be changed, often a new setting or mood must be created
for the next performer. An artful touch by the em cee can
provide the necessary contact between music numbers or
various types of performers.

The stock method of perfecting this transition is to fill in

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 53

waiting moments with a mouthful of gags. Hence there has
grown up the species known as the gag-type em cee.

Radio Quizzes

The unconquerable urge of a considerable proportion of
the American populace to display its ignorance over a na-
tion-wide hookup is one of the most mysterious phenomena
of our time. It is comparable only to those little animals who
insist on swimming out to sea and drowning themselves en
masse. However, there seem to be more and more quiz pro-
grams, with more and more people appearing on them.

Listening to these broadcasts at home is well enough in
its way, but most people suffer from a good deal of curiosity
about these lambs going to their self-imposed slaughter. It
is an experience to get some tickets and actually see the
broadcast taking place.

Some of it is pretty peculiar. On one quiz program an
announcer comes out and explains that when he raises his
hand he wants the studio audience to chatter "just like chil-
dren in a school room," and when he wriggles his fingers he
wants quiet. Everybody politely does as he asks.

The contestants look calm or sheepish, or completely un-
happy. There is generally one self-possessed man who doesn't
know anything much but makes a lot of wisecracks at which
the studio audience is encouraged to laugh hysterically.
There is also usually one little Miss Smartypants who knows
everything and doesn't make a spectacle of herself by gig-
gling. The women in the audience view her with appro-
bation.

Professor Quiz picks out a man from the crowd unaware
of the man's communistic tendencies. Professor Quiz asks
him rather grandiloquently: "And you sir — what do YOU
thing of the busses?" The answer brought gales of laughter

54 RAPE OF RADIO

from the crowd. It was: "De bosses — de bosses — you esk me
about de bosses — veil, I say quick — DOWN with de bosses!"

As an exercise it would be well to invent embarrassing
moments like these and supply the quip or remark that will
take the edge off any overbold or untoward utterance which
is the taboo of radio.

The men who handle the currently popular audience par-
ticipation programs must think and talk with swift response.
They are presumed to be masters of ad-libbing.

Be prepared to meet this criticism of John B. Kennedy,
the NBC expert announcer, which he made in a recent issue
of The Commentator: "Half the quiz-program boys would
astonish the listeners by their bewilderment if an awkward
question upset the routine of their specious ad-libbing which
is largely rote."

Summarizing

A master of ceremonies should truly be master of the pro-
gram. This sense of command is conveyed to the listeners
by factors which are almost intangible. Listeners are moved
by an easy, familiar manner in voice. Something about the
speaker seems alive, sincere, delightful and refreshing. Every-
thing he says springs from the spirit of the performance and
gives the effect of closely co-ordinated entertainment. An
over-assurance or cockiness will be immediately detected by
the knowing ears of the listeners.

Much of the persiflage that sounds so brilliantly spon-
taneous on the Kraft program are the sentences that Carroll
Carroll, the writer, puts into the mouth of Bing Crosby.
This good-natured banter is the stuff the public gloats upon
and if entrusted to another might sound rather terrible.

Every type of program has its problems and situations.
The born em cee easily adapts himself to the spirit of the
occasion. Test your flexibility as an em cee by this exercise.
Assume that you are Milton Cross. You have just been as-

THE CULT OF ANNOUNCER 55

signed as the em cee of two children's programs. One is a
nursery rhymes broadcast; the other is a Sunday morning's
children's hour. Study your voice manner and your attitude
in your approach to children in the studio with full regard
to the listening audience.

Circumstances alter cases. The eyes of the em cee must
be everywhere. He must be alert while the program is going
on, make allowances for "spread." Spread is the difference
between running time at the dress rehearsal and the actual
running time on the air. He may be obliged to cut his pre-
pared announcement or ad-lib to fill in the extended
moments.

Frank Mclntyre, who succeeded the unctuous Charles
Winninger as Captain Henry of the Maxwell House Coffee
Hour, offered this test for quick verbal counter: "One may
drop a script, or read the wrong line. Then you'll have to
cover it up. The script may have been corrected, and the
new page thrown away instead of the old one. In fact, this
is a way to test yourself to see if you have the makings of
a master of ceremonies."

The em cee who is also a leading performer on a variety
program requires a specialized technique that cannot be
trifled with. He must be magnetic enough to dominate a
whole show and yet hold himself aloof at the right moment.
He must be exuberant enough to capture interest and hold
the interest until the program is over. With the authority of
an honest performer he keeps the stage warm and glowing
for the invisible audience.

"Ideally," says Deems Taylor whom we must quote again,
"the perfect radio announcement is one that is simple, clear,
brief, amusing, conversational and persuasive. And try to
write it!" But Taylor might have added, "Try and speak itl"
for the perfect radio announcement must sound as if it
were glibly rolling off the lips.

The latest discovery is Clifton Fadiman, the man of in-

56 RAPE OF RADIO

finite jest, who propounds weighty questions to experts on
"Information Please." Recruited from the book critic page
of the New Yorker he won instant acclaim with all classes
of listeners. Such men are naturals because they exhibit cul-
ture, refinement and agreeableness without obtrusive sophis-
tication. Since its inception Fadiman has remained the in-
terlocutor of the show.

Fadiman's gift is the gift of voice plus intelligence, wit
and a communicating sense that catches the audience. He
keeps talking about twenty minutes of the thirty minutes of
the show, propounding a series of trick questions to several
powerful minds whose ignorant responses create a giggle all
over the country. That is a task by itself.

A program like "Information Please," affords the chance
for spontaneous skirmishes, light, quick, cutting comments
and flowery phrases. Consider that evening on which John
Gunther knew at once that Riza Pahlevi was Shah of Iran.
Fadiman: "Are you shah?" Gunther: "Sultanly."

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES

THE first radio drama was produced in 1922. There fol-
lowed a succession of broadcast plays, amateurish and
abortive. Producers projected playlets or short dramas in the
regular stage manner without respect to the limitations of
the microphone. Over a period of eighteen years experiments
have been made to achieve a new art form.

Broadcast plays today may be classified as (i) adaptations
of stories, (2) stage and screen plays and (3) scripts written
especially for the air. The earlier productions were almost
exclusively adaptations.

Borrowing a leaf from film playwrights, the radio adaptors
turned to established writers for their material. They con-
structed air dramas out of episodes taken from such writers
as Conan Doyle and Sax Rohmer and fell back upon the
motion picture device of a "dissolved" in the form of a
musical cue to link their situations together.

Radio laid its clumsy hands upon the work of playwrights
for inclusion in radio variety shows. Louis Reid said of Rudy
Vallee that it took only fifteen minutes of radio boola boola
to massacre the popular dramas of the stage. Condensation
consisted of lifting some little scene and presenting it for
fifteen minutes without preliminary action and characteriza-
tion in the dialogue upon which it was based. It has been
proved conclusively that radio cannot do justice in brief
sketches of such stage plays unholily as "Dodsworth," "Val-
ley Forge," "Laburnum Grove," and "Farmer Takes A
Wife." The results were theatrically futile. It is difficult for
the listener to warm up an imagination when a fifteen min-
ute excerpt is flung on the air. An hour program permitted

57

58 RAPE OF RADIO

the adapter to include practically all the dialogue and scenes
of the play.

Established authors were reluctant to enter the field of
radio drama. Octavus Roy Cohen was among the first maga-
zine names to compete for air laurels. A few distinguished
writers, intrigued by the new medium, tried out their in-
ventiveness. Booth Tarkington wrote a radio script entitled
"Maud and Cousin Bill." Tarkington considered radio as "a
new way of painting pictures in the mind of an audience,"
and that is what the playwright and the novelist try to do
with their other mediums.

In 1934 radio drama became the new vehicle of T. S.
Stribling, whose novel "The Store" won the Pulitzer Prize.
He approached the problem with curiosity. The result was
a radio series known as "The Conflict" which was an adapta-
tion of an earlier novel of his dealing with the struggle of the
ship lines. Stribling added nothing revolutionary to the
radio drama form but recognized the necessity for serious
study of the problem. He left the field with a solid prophecy:
"I look forward to the time when radio drama will run for
an hour or two hours, letting radio develop its own style of
radio technique."

The dramatist is just beginning to shake off his indiffer-
ence to radio. Today many a well-known literary name is
found appended to the script of a radio drama. Radio has
added to its roster such names as Sherwood Anderson, Clif-
ford Odets, Irwin Shaw, Stephen Vincent Benet, Norman
Corwin, Alfred Kreymbourg, and Archibald MacLeish.

Writers have been tempted by social problems of the day
to do bits of propaganda drama. For "The Mobilization for
Human Needs" campaign Fannie Hurst was prompted to
write for the networks a playlet called "Society's Business."
Irwin Shaw, in 1937, wrote a drama for the air entitled
"Supply and Demand," a half-hour production over the

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 59

WABC network. The play ventured into biting and ironic
commentary on the food situation in the United States.

The era of "pure" radio drama begins with the Columbia
Workshop in 1936, under the direction of Irving Reis. This
was the first experimental theater of the air which guaran-
teed writers that their scripts would neither be revised nor
cut. Reis began his career as a log engineer, but soon at-
tracted attention as the author of a psychological script
called "Split Seconds." An earlier work, "St. Louis Blues,"
produced in 1934, was a forerunner of the techniques he
employed in "Meridian 7-1212." Reis has been called the
apostle of drama through sound. His experiments demon-
strated that the microphone could convey sound effects to
build up drama in a way never before achieved.

Sponsors are not interested in experimental drama. They
discovered very early that it was far safer to use tried and
tested Broadway shows that could be easily adapted for
radio. The Lux Radio Theater, from its eastern stronghold
in New York, swooped down upon the hits of Broadway,
placing its reliance upon the lure of a smashing success and
only upon actors who had the highest box office attraction,
who were engaged to star in these productions. Attempts
were made to cast the radio play with the original star, and as
many of the original cast as it was possible to gather together.
Plays were cut down to the conventional radio formula and
adapted to the one hour commercial program. Only fine act-
ing saved these chopped-up plays. Walter Huston did a
memorable bit of acting as Nifty in "The Barker," Leslie
Howard set a high standard as Peter Standish in "Berkley
Square," Paul Muni lost none of his vigor in "Counsellor-
at-Law," and Pauline Lord and Walter Connolly were just
as intense as in their stage roles in "The Late Christopher
Bean."

To a larger extent than any other country England has de-
veloped the aesthetics and technique of radio drama. Writ-

60 RAPE OF RADIO

ers of the stature of T. S. Elliot and James Hilton have
written several experimental dramas. The British have been
on the search for a new art form and were the first to con-
clude that stage plays are not radio plays. Early in 1937, NBC
was so impressed by the new creative methods that it bought
four English plays for radio production.

The old theory that radio drama was bound to accept
limitations far more rigid than those that apply to the stage
and screen has been abandoned by the English. They have
achieved success in comedy and in historical and serious
drama. Poetic plays like "Romeo and Juliet," romantic plays
like "Hassan," epigrammatic plays like "The Importance
of Being Earnest," character plays like "Doctor Abernathy
— His Book," biographical plays like "Goodbye Mr. Chips,"
war plays like "Journey's End," sentimental plays like "Ann
and Harold," all have proved successful on the air. There
is seldom a common factor in treatment or presentation,
each play offering special problems.

Radio as a means of presenting the classic dramatists has
made a decided advance. The networks began to consider
the classical and modern dramatists. In 1937, the Shakes-
pearian cycle marked the beginning of the trend. A cycle of
Eugene O'Neill plays, followed by George Bernard Shaw,
indicates the agreement of distinguished playwrights to lend
their plays for the culture and understanding of vast audi-
ence groups formerly untouched by the influence of the
theater. These plays are, however, at their best, condensed
versions. A play is cut and revised on the Procrustean bed
to get it within radio's time limits.

Can Radio Actors Act?

Radio acting demands a higher degree of skill and art than
does the legitimate stage. The radio actor is beset with
special difficulties that often phase the most capable per-

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 6l

former. In the studio, chalk lines and arrow marks around
the base of the microphone serve as a guide to stance and
distance. Seats along the side of the wall are occupied by the
dramatic cast. Actors stroll to their assigned microphone
positions only when their lines are reached. Such conditions
break up the actor's mental approach in character and
mood. On the stage actors have learned to sustain a mood
all the while whether speaking or not. When the actor re-
sumes his place at the microphone there is danger that his
voice may sound artificial and unrelated to what has been
spoken before. Even the most seasoned actor is influenced
by lack of audience, applause, and surroundings of the legiti-
mate stage. He must submerge himself in character regard-
less of studio "setting" and sound effects.

The whistle of the siren and the clanking of chains may
throw him off mood. In addition, he is obliged to keep his
eyes on the clock, and the man in the control room. There
often arises in the mind a terrible consciousness that he is
not being effective, and this feeling is often correct. One
listener complained to the New York Times that actors
bring about strange effects on the air. Weeping to him
seemed like a waterfall, and laughter like a sound
effect, and a whisper like a string of pauses surrounded by
mumbling. To this general charge it might be said that
everything depends on the actor. Some actors play havoc
with any emotion; the real artist achieves results in voice
that are unmistakable reflections of the mind and spirit.

Nearly every important actor has his own set of micro-
phone mannerisms. Many of them go through the same pan-
tomime and gestures before the* microphone as they would
on the theater stage. Gesture before the microphone helps in
overcoming nervous tensions and mike consciousness. Lillian
Gish in an O. Henry play had a line in which she an-
nounced: "Wait 'till I take off my hat. There!" Her long

62 RAPE OF RADIO

training in stage realism impelled her to raise her arm and
yank off her own hat.

If the script of Bambi directs Helen Hayes through a re-
volving door of a restaurant, she half whirls around the
mike. She carries on through her entire program with ges-
ture, facial expression, and pantomime, always keeping her
eye on the printed page, following the script lest she lose her
lines and the proper cues.

No exact formula can be given for successful acting on the
air. The actor's art is bound up with his personality and each
part that he plays becomes a special study in achievement.
Stanislavski in his work "An Actor Prepares" has evoked
a psycho-technique which implies an excellently trained
physical, mental and vocal apparatus. A seasoned radio actor,
Clyde North, once advised: "In a true sense, the radio actor
projects character over the air waves as he does over the
footlights. When he transfers his training from the foot-
lights to the microphone he may be forgiven for those first
blunders which are common to first appearances."

Certain principles of acting perhaps can be gleaned from
the reactions of actors who have been called from one field
to the other. Paul Muni, when called to do the lead in
"Counsellor-At-Law" found radio a serious piece of business.
"I didn't know what to expect," he confessed. "When I first
saw the script and noticed how much of the original had
been left out I was apprehensive as to the final result. All
the nuances and all the embellishments that I had known
on the stage were absent. I suddenly realized that there
would be no facial expressions, no gestures, to lend it reality.
But I soon got into the swing of it, thanks to the help of
everyone who had a hand in the broadcast. It is just a matter
of submerging one's self in the material and remembering
nothing else while acting."

Dialogue must have an intimate and conversational touch,
if it is to sound honest. The radio actor must convey to

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 63

listeners the illusion that they are eavesdropping upon a
scene right out of life. This thought was summed up by
Walter Huston when he said: "You can read a line one way
and it will be honest. You can read it another way and it'll
be a lie. You've got to be honest." The successful actor
always gives the impression that he hasn't quite learned his
part, and is ad-libbing as he goes along. Heywood Broun
called this faculty "the illusion of the theater."

Radio acting commands a quick, alert, and flexible men-
tality, together with those physical gifts of voice which can
interpret character in any situation. Character is made
plausible if the actor thinks, feels, and strives in unison with
his role. This requires talent and technique.

Timing and cuing are vital. The smallest details become
significant; the difference in two or three seconds in the
length of a pause, a slight change of tempo, a highly nervous
pace, a lagging or let-down, anything unnatural in expres-
sion may mar a scene.

Radio broadcasting stations are still crowded with the
amateurs who have had no opportunity for professional
growth or experience. For this reason George Abbott, the
producer, holds that it is best for the networks to cling to
the old saying that "the worst professional is better than the
best amateur."

The trained actor brings a power of interpretation that
is totally lacking even in the best radio reader of scripts.
Courtney Savage, former CBS director of plays, found that
"in the creation of new roles, the actor with stage experience
far excels the person without legitimate training. Actors of
the legitimate stage slip into microphone technique with in-
digenous ease. The rising stars of the air waves attack their
programs with their individual personalities centered solely
in their vocal chords."

There still persists an "elocutionary" school of acting
which the microphone has especially fostered. Walter Win-

64 RAPE OF RADIO

chell urged that Katharine Cornell quit trying to sound like
a diction tutor. George Jean Nathan calls attention to the
great difference between exact pronunciation and enuncia-
tion and obviously painstaking exact pronunciation and
enunciation. "The former is of course to be demanded,"
says Nathan. But the latter with its air of a student proudly
and self consciously reciting a heavily learned lesson, will
destroy the naturalness, ease and effect of any performance,
however otherwise good. It is better, so far as the audience
goes, to mispronounce and even badly articulate a difficult
word than to speak it like a diction teacher giving a lesson
in facial and dental calisthenics.

In June, 1938, Orson Welles said before the National
Council of Teachers of English: "The Mercury Troup has
concentrated on delivering lines with as much clarity and
as authentic inflection as possible. Emphasis has been placed
on infusing the language with as much beauty as the actress
can lend through voice and expression. Language never
lives until it is spoken aloud."

Shall Parts Be Memorized?

Television may put an end to the reading of lines from
a script. Actors will be forced to memorize their parts and
carry on as on the stage. There are many old-timers like
Jane Cowl who wish radio would permit them to memorize,
but the microphone has no time for such proceedings.
Why memorize for a single performance? Reading from
the script has the virtue of saving the energy of actors
and cutting down the time of rehearsals. Radio actors do not
take seriously the announcement by the networks that they
must memorize their lines, since such a rule, if enforced,
would require greatly increased salaries.

Maude Adams spoke her lines from memory, just as she
did in the theater. There are few actresses so ably prepared.

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 65

It is notable, however, that NBC tried to preserve the short
dramatic phrasing of Maxwell Anderson's "Second Over-
ture" by insisting that the actors memorize their lines so
that they were allowed complete freedom of gesture while
their speeches were picked up by microphones suspended
over their heads.

The custom of reading scripts brings with it the usual
results of unintelligent reading. Somehow, when actors read
from scripts, the effect becomes mechanical or too strenuous.
Reading requires a full dimensional immersion in charac-
ter. The capable radio performer with script in hand rarely
gives any suspicion that he is reading from a script. Acting
has been termed nothing more than re-acting. In reading a
script, the actor never abandons the conversational contact
which is the secret of realism.

Many careless directors permit their casts to fit their lines
together rather than to fit their expression into the scheme
of the action so that these actors do not really talk or listen
to each other, but merely read to one another. Listeners be-
come aware that there is no contact between the mind of one
actor and the mind of the other. To avoid these mechanical
impressions requires constant practice in ear-training, so that
the actor can give the listener the illusion of honest-to-good-
ness dialogue.

A trained actress can adapt herself to her role under spe-
cial stress. Helen Hayes was called to the microphone to take
the part of Margaret Sullavan in the leading role of "Peg
of My Heart." She had never played that part before and
went on the air without the benefit of any rehearsal and
only one script reading. "Frankly I was never so frightened
over a performance before," she said. "Please realize that
for my previous radio theater role in 'What Every Woman
Knows/ I had six days and sixteen solid hours of rehearsal."

William S. Gillette was a master of naturalness in acting.
He always gave the impression that he had not quite learned

66 RAPE OF RADIO

his part, ad-libbing as he went along. This is what is called
"the illusion of a first performance."

The test of naturalness lies in timing and the use of
rhythms, inflections which strike the listener as "sincere."
It is the natural reaction of the stage actor to protest against
reading from a script. When Ina Claire appeared in three
plays over NBC in 1937, she complained about the difficul-
ties of translating her art from the spoken stage to radio
without benefit of memorizing: "It is so difficult reading
from a sheet of paper. I can't see why radio casts are not re-
hearsed as we rehearse in the theater. They could give a
better performance."

Janet Gaynor, who made her debut on the microphone in
the same year in a radio adaptation of "A Star is Born,"
suggested, like most air novices, that she memorize her part
instead of reading from the script. This suggestion is gen-
erally vetoed by the director. Players who have memorized
lines become confused when necessary last-minute cuts are
made. In addition there is the danger of a fumbled line,
which while forgivable on the stage is fatal on the air.

Voice of the Radio Actor

The loud speaker does terrible things to the actor's voice.
Even the most distinguished stars, who are the best examples
of traditional acting, have failed dismally on the air. Often
a false theatricalism creeps into the voice. The touch of un-
naturalness is immediately detected by the listener when the
actor seems to struggle to achieve unusual tonalities. Ethel
Barrymore found it difficult to adapt her stage technique to
radio. Her throaty attempt at over-emotionalism had much
of the effect of the elocutionary art.

Sometimes an artist tries too hard to put every nuance
into boldest emphasis. Mary Pickford's over-explicit empha-
sis succeeded in turning comedy into farce. Tallulah Bank-

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 67

head, a personality in the theater and on the screen, brought
to radio a voice that was regarded as hard, unfeminine, and
lacking in the finer shades of interpretation.

Many air failures arise from miscasting radio plays. The
actor is lost in a leading role unsuited to his type. Mary
Pickford's attempt in "Coquette" proved that heavy acting
was unsuited to her. The seduction-murder theme was too
much for her artistry and unsuited to her type. Her first
offering, "The Church Mouse," was a sentimental comedy
more agreeable to her manner, but her voice was undis-
tinguished and critics commented on the slight fuzz in her
enunciation, something just this side of a lisp.

The microphone holds no guarantee for the revival of the
reputation of an actress whose name was spoken in hushed
whispers as a genius of the spoken stage. Maude Adams
strove to weave the veil of enchantment that she had so suc-
cessfully created on the spoken stage over the air. Something
about "Peter Pan," however, could not be successfully trans-
lated in sound, and the fantasy of the play did not get across.
One critic called "Peter Pan" on the air tragically unsuccess-
ful and although Maude Adams achieved something of the
elfin whimsy, refined and genteel atmosphere, her efforts
were not impressive, and after eight weeks on the air, her
sponsors did not renew her contract. One likened her read-
ing of "The Kingdom of God" to the vocal hullabaloo at the
Grand Central Station in New York just before the Yale-
Harvard Special pulls out.

Lionel Barrymore, radio's leading impersonator of old
men, has escaped from a stilted, artificial, and exaggerated
style in delivery. For a more flexible and more interpreta-
tive rendering, he advises: "We can't deliver a one-tone
monologue on the air. No matter how dramatic the material,
a pulse that is hammered too hard, even with drama, finally
becomes impervious. Even horror loses its blood-curdling

68 RAPE OF RADIO

power if it is overdone. We have, therefore, to assimilate all
of our being, all of our lights and shades into the voice."

In spite of the best intentions of Orson Welles, his im-
personations became too dramatic and noisy. A certain pom-
posity in his actors created the feeling that they were trying
to be arty.

In spite of all the ballyhoo accompanying the production
of Shakespeare and Shaw, there has been little change in
the average run of plays on the air. The work of these play-
wrights is born of the theater and not the radio. The next
stage of development in radio drama is the creation of a
repertory written especially for radio plus television require-
ments to come. The poetic drama has taken on a new stimu-
lus through broadcasting. That trio of poetic experimentists,
Maxwell Anderson, Archibald MacLeish, and Alfred Kreym-
bourg, have added much to the stability and maturity of the
microphone plays.

Many programs still deal with excerpts from the current
successes. This vogue was introduced by both Rudy Vallee
and Kate Smith, who included scenes from play hits as
features of their Variety Programs. When all the excitement
of the presentation of some important plays is past, the net-
works go back to the same dramatic and comedy pattern as
they had before. Trivial serials seriously hinder the appre-
ciation of finer things in radio drama. Script shows like
"Pepper's Own Family," "Big Sister," "Betty and Bob," are
far more popular than Shakespeare and Shaw.

The experimental theater has diagnosed most of the ills
of radio. It is now up to the playwrights to apply their
remedies. Radio drama will suffer from pernicious anemia
as long as it continues to offer a surplusage of serials.

The performance of Drinkwater's "Abraham Lincoln,"
displayed Orson Welles as a Lincoln who had a deep-sea-
going voice that was trying to rival a fog-horn. The true
humility of the Emancipator was missing in voice. The

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 60

danger in such characterizations is that the narrator, who is
also the protagonist in the narrative, misses true characteri-
zation. It is as if a man were in love with his own voice and
did not care to change it when stepping into character.

Barrymore made the mistake of trying to double as the
ghost in "Hamlet." As a result Hamlet sounded like the
ghost, and the ghost sounded like Hamlet. Doubling in radio
is a stunt even for the best actor. Jimmy Scribner as the full
cast of "The Johnson Family" enacted thirty-two characters,
but not without strained and curious voice effects.

To fit into the picture the actor must give diligent atten-
tion to his spoken lines through careful rehearsal. Even more
care is necessary for microphone delivery than for the spoken
stage. Leslie Howard, on his own admission, was a total fail-
ure in "The Minute" on the Vallee Hour because he ap-
peared without rehearsal. His rendition, indeed, was just
a bit of unadulterated elocution. Some stars believed that
rehearsing before the microphone was just a lot of fuss, but
experience soon convinced them that the microphone is the
most unerring instrument for determining their humanity
in acting.

Today the actor does not have to worry about his personal
appearance when he comes before the mike. Burns Mantle,
with brilliant irony, bespeaks the opportunity which Shakes-
pearean revivals offer to players who can triumph by virtue
of their voices alone: "A Falstaff who doesn't have to wrestle
with a stomach pad to look the part of the barrel-shaped
knight! A Rosalind who does not even have to be shapely!
A Kate Smith, given the voice and feeling, could read Juliet
as confidently as a Cornell or a Cowl. An angular ZaSu Pitts
or a Flora Finch could do as nicely as Rosalind, other talents
being equal, as an Ada Rehan, or even a Marlene Dietrich."

A monologuist like Ruth Draper represents the acme of
radio ability. In her repertory there are thirty-five mono-
logues. Each calls for the delineation of a distinct character,

70 RAPE OF RADIO

and each one is different from the rest. This means that she
has to adapt herself to thirty-five speech personalities; her
rhythm, inflection, and general quality of voice must vary
with each impersonation. It represents the highest degree of
adaptation of the human voice. If the purpose of monologue
is to make subacid but still polite comment on superficial
manners, Ruth Draper heads the field. She has no rival. Her
variety of tone, her technical control, her tactful lightness
of touch adroitly suggest to the audience that even a scorpion
may be tamed as a drawing-room pet.

Writing for Radio

A new deal seems to be in the offing for the radio writer.
For nearly twenty years, with few exceptions, he was for-
gotten in the fanfare of the programs he helped to create.
Names of announcers, bandsmen, transient Hollywood stars,
and other supernumeraries were exploited continuously over
the air while the men and women who pounded out all the
sketches, playlets, skits and dramas were left to toil in com-
plete obscurity. The status of the writer was not that of a
literary creator, but of an anonymous producer of advertis-
ing copy.

With the entrance of recognized authors into the field of
radio, and with the growing development of specialized
writing technique, the radio "by-line" will become an actu-
ality not only as a deserving accolade to the radio author, but
also as a direct encouragement to better efforts.

The time still is when radio plays are dashed off m a day
or two. In some instances it is reported that the copy has
been furnished hot from the office pen while the actors are
still standing before the microphone. How is it possible
for an author to provide dialogue while on the run? Walter
Huston, who appeared in the radio performance of "The
Barker," claims that the power of the production lay in its

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 71

perfected dialogue since the author had spent a year perfect-
ing the play, traveling with a carnival and learning every
quirk of the traveling tent. "The radio drama penned in a
few days," he says, "fails to paint the picture. The imagina-
tion doesn't have a chance to work," and Elsie Ferguson pro-
tested "It is a shame that actors are held back by dialogues
that are thrilling as a timetable." The author, then, should
give close attention to dialogue that rings true and is very
real.

No amount of technical ingenuity can save a poorly writ-
ten script, or the telescoped continuities that ignore charac-
ter and hurry the action with almost unbelievable speed.
The construction of a radio play demands an intimate
knowledge of the author's chosen materials, and a careful
selection from them. They aim to bring about a special
friendliness or a temperamental kinship with the characters,
as they are shown by their speech. In some way the drama
brings a mental picture before the listener and words become
translated into feelings and emotions. If the author does not
provide the actor with dialogue that has this quality, a radio
play cannot hope to be more than a dull affair in reading.

Tradition has grown up that radio drama demands mys-
terious techniques which are beyond the average writer.
It is true that certain tricks of method have been applied to
this art, but radio need not frighten away the playwright.
The field is open to experiment. The principles of radio
drama have remained the same from the very beginning.
Radio merely takes these fundamental techniques and ap-
plies them in a way different from stage or screen technique
in which the physical element played a most important part.

The veteran Owen Davis, author of over one hundred
stage plays, and creator of the radio "Gibson Family," be-
came a radio recruit without fear or trembling. "Radio,"
he advises, "is neither more difficult nor easy than writing
a stage play. It all simmers down to what you say and how

72 RAPE OF RADIO

you say it. Radio has the same problems as Hollywood. There
is no established formula for writing plays for stage and
screen. There is none for radio. It is merely a question of
knowing how to perform certain tricks."

The old screen melodramas of 1900 involved techniques
peculiar to the silent screen. The writer of continuity for the
silent film sought to make the audience "hear" by sight.
The problem of the radio dramatist is to stimulate the
listener to "see" by sound. Film playwrights clung to plots
which emphasized action, such as "The Wild Chase," "Rex,"
or "Burning Houses." When the talkies were introduced, the
screen began to call for plays of character and situation
rather than those of mere physical movement. In the same
way, action and physical motion have been overemphasized
in radio, while plays involving character development and
emotional tendencies have been neglected. Many authors be-
lieve that the most unconvincing thing on the air is violence,
such as gun shots or fights, on which the success of the old
melodramas depended. The deeper feelings such as tender-
ness and affection, are more easily visualized than those
climaxes depending upon sound effects. Effective dialogue
paints a better mental picture than violent sounds. The
whole business of radio drama technique is not elusive, but
remains, first and last, — theater. The technique of radio
script writing, radio drama writing, is done by simple rules,
but they require a deep understanding of human nature and
what is appealing to the average man and woman.

A situation or a character is more easily visualized when
the listener is touched by the deeper emotions, — monologue,
self-sacrifice, jealousy. The imagination plays the most suc-
cessful part in any broadcast. De Mille calls the proper use
of dialogue the fertilization of the imagination.

Radio plays, like the movies, sought their success by ad-
hering to their "young boy meets girl" formula. At their
best, they remain glorified stories of "hot" writing. It is for

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 73

such a reason that Arch Oboler, sickened by the mechanical
production of his sketches for Irene Rich's show for nearly
two years, finally resigned.

Special Problems

Early radio dramatists were faced with the problems of in-
dicating a division between scenes. The three methods of
bridging in use today are (i) the use of sound effects which
give the listener a notion of change of scene through syn-
chronized sounds; (2) the method of the commentator who
lays the scene; (3) the narrator who is, in effect, something
of the Greek chorus; (4) musical bridge which employs
background music appropriate to the action.

The musical curtain, now employed practically univers-
ally is attributed to Dana Noyes and Howard Barlow,
formerly Columbia's musical director. Noyes and Barlow
introduced a brief musical interlude between scenes in "The
True Story" broadcast to indicate the passing of time and
the change of setting. Variations of this device are to be
found in the Eno Crime Club Series, where a gong is slowly
struck three times between each scene.

The modern playwright has the advantage over the Eliza-
bethan dramatist. The theater-goer today is provided with
a program which tells him of the changes of scene and of
the passage of time and of anything else which the play-
wright regards necessary for him to know. Elizabethans had
no programs. Radio drama can take lessons in technique
from the technique in transition out of Shakespeare. Shakes-
peare used devices for conveying information about lapses
of time and shifts in locality by means of dialogue. In the
same manner dialogue serves to identify characters, antici-
pate or recapitulate events in order to make the action clear,
stress the significant, show the responsiveness of other charac-
ters in the play, one to the other, bring in testimony and

74 RAPE OF RADIO

messages of ghosts, and provide the narrator with the func-
tion of chorus prologue and epilogue.

The radio playwright should be guided by certain prin-
ciples which experience has proved:

1. Writing for the masses requires a theme which will
strike the widest appeal. An author must express himself in
terms which will be understandable by the greatest possible
number of listeners. In theme and in treatment, therefore,
he will aim to touch what is immediately satisfying to the
mass mind. Specialized treatment of plays as found in the
experimental drama cannot hope to reach the minimum
audience of approximately two million people listening in
constantly. A play that attracts only one hundred thousand
reaches out for only one-twentieth of its potential audience.

2. The most complicated problem of writing radio drama
is that of identification. The legitimate stage employs light-
ing and scenic effects which impress the audience through
the eye. The radio dramatist relies solely on visual images
created solely by the dialogue spoken by the actors and the
sound effects made to order by the technicians. Hence, the
radio dramatist should deal in images which are easily recog-
nized. The author indulges in swift, quick characterization
and can fasten this characterization on the listener by the
selection of simple characters and situations. The first five
minutes of a radio drama are regarded as vital. It is generally
considered that if an audience cannot picture a character
and catch the drift of the action within these five minutes a
radio play will drag along in a muddled and confused way.

3. Irving Reis calls attention to the "here-comes-so-and-
so" school of exposition, which should be avoided. He warns,
"It is dull and sloppy to establish a character in this obvious
fashion. The writer must be inventive and devise in his
scripts fresh and arresting methods of starting off the charac-
ter's locale and plots."

4. Experiments prove that a writer may use as many char-

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 75

acters as he likes in a radio drama. The important principle
is never to have more than three characters bear the brunt
of any scene. Listeners can hold only so much at one time.
Voice is the only guide by which the audience can see a char-
acter, and if that particular voice comes into the scene in-
frequently, it places a strain on the listener to identify it.
Many plays are ruined by a babble of voices, none of which
is fastened to a particular personality.

A character may be perfectly clear to the writer and yet
be perfectly obscure to the listener. Dialect helps establish
a character. It is by this element of the voice that the radio
dramatist must rely upon the actor, but he must provide him
with that mental stuff which can engender the highest form
of expression and interpretation. John Erskine evaluates
voice in the radio drama thus: "One loves voices, voices that
convey the suggestion of pleasant personalities — voices full
of character, that bespeak a whole page of description."

The author must spend some time in justifying and ex-
plaining his characters before they seem real to the radio
audience. Put yourself in the listener's place, and see what
sort of reaction your character creates. After that, the story
can begin to move. Epithets, voices tender and ennobling,
voices that stand apart by intense contrast from the gruff,
mean, savage and violent speech of the villains, — voices
clashing in battle or intertwined in love.

Suggestions

Not any one can write radio drama. Even the established
writer must give ear to the radio and use his critical faculty
in analyzing serials, one-act plays comedies and dramas from
the standpoint of sound. The beginner in this field will
profit by a good course in narrative and dramatic techniques
which are fundamental to plot construction. The crux of
the whole question of successful radio writing lies in the

76 RAPE OF RADIO

ability of the writer to think in terms of sound. George P.
Ludlam, continuity writer for NBC advised: "The best place
to learn how to write is beside a radio set. The playwright
who keeps that in mind is in little danger of going wrong."
Transitions, effects, climaxes all depend on sound. If the
writer can hear his show in his mind and is satisfied with it,
the chances are that he has something worth while. It does
not matter how dialogue looks in print, it's the sound that
counts. A few bars of thematic music transport the listener
through time and space in a second or two. A few bars of
thematic music span the centuries or transport the listener
into another world. The writer takes advantage of the swift
and sweeping transitions in time and place that radio affords.
It is a matter of training to establish for the listener, the
time, the place and the characters. George P. Ludlam also
offers this injunction: "The listener must never for a mo-
ment be left in doubt as to the scene of the action or the
identity of the characters engaged in conversation." Although
this takes deft writing, it's quite simple when one under-
stands the requisites.

Adaptation

Instead of an art, the work of adaptation was regarded as
an unimportant hack job. The work truly calls for the best
skills of the trained playwright and an intimate understand-
ing of the reaction of the listening audience to characteriza-
tion and dialogue. The adaptor has a special task of reducing
the short story or novel to its elements and then analyzing
and reassembling its separate parts. He has the special prob-
lem of keeping the tone of the play consistent with the
original story and at the same time so construct his dialogue
as to convey the impression of real people.

Some critics regard the adaptation of a play to radio as a
trick in method rather than as an art. Condensing requires

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 77

the nicety of a surgeon who can extract a heart from the
drama without destroying its unity. There are several prin-
ciples in adapting that are almost uniformly practiced: (i)
The radio script is shorter than the average stage script and
is comparable to the one-act play; (2) Radio will permit un-
limited flexibility in play form since it places no limitation
on the length and number of scenes. It can enlarge on or
compress any situation and the scene can be disposed of in
a few lines of script. Change of time and place become al-
most instantaneous; (3) The most popular adaptations are
those of stories or plays depending mainly on plot and action.
Plays which depend upon sophistication of dialogue offer
special difficulty in adaptation. It is easier to handle frank
melodramas whose guiding motto is "Twelve minutes and
a scream"; (4) The adaptor must turn the very limitations
of the microphone to good advantage. To this end the adap-
tor should be familiar with the unusual effects in voice that
give the illusion of reality.

Many presentations have been ruined by the extreme com-
pression of plays within a period of thirty minutes. A two-
hour play cannot be cut successfully to twenty-five minutes
and still retain the flavor of the original. The high tempo
and rapid fire dialogue common to most adaptations only
succeed in emasculating the originals.

The adaptor has the task of switching scenes, cutting and
pruning the lines, making changes in the action to employ
proper sound effects and create the illusion of time and
place. The principle followed in cutting is to highlight the
main theme and gloss over the improbable and probable
sub-plots. Burns Mantle criticized the Shakespearean stream-
line performances as being not even directly or remotely
compared to the stage plays. "But," he adds, "they were cer-
tainly a great deal more than platform reading/'

Max Wyle, continuity editor of CBS, in his lectures on
radio writing at New York University stresses the principal

78 RAPE OF RADIO

errors in script writing: (i) deficient story interest; (2) failure
to develop a story after getting it started; (3) the abuse and
improper use of sound effects; (4) writing about situations
with insufficient knowledge. Radio technique in his opinion
is not as important as story technique: "Most people who
can write the story can be taught to write radio," explains
Mr. Wyle. "If it's a good story, even though the script be
spotted with technical mistakes, we can turn it into a good
show and usually without very elaborate repair work."

The tendency for most amateur writers is to write about
situations they have observed only in the movies. The pre-
cipitate young writers who live in Alaska create stories about
Florida night clubs, and innumerable young people fresh
from the colleges weave their stories in settings about which
they know little. The young girls of the middle west essay
the gangster problem of New York. Geographical areas of
course have no bindings on the imagination, but the aspir-
ing writer is urged to avoid distorted pictures by handling
material with which he is unfamiliar. Wyle continues his in-
junctions to the amateur:

"We might say that if sound does not clarify a piece of
stage business; if sound does not emphasize or fix a spoken
line; if sound does not intensify atmosphere, it does not
belong in the script. Never use a sound cue to indicate the
physical action of a character unless the action is already un-
der way or the intention already known.

"We can set down another rule too: Never use adverbs
or adjectives in a sound cue unless those adverbs and adjec-
tives qualify either microphone perspective or sound vol-
ume. Never use the word 'denote' in a sound cue. If the
sound, of itself, does not denote what it is intended to de-
note, it is no good."

The outlook field of writing is growing brighter. Writers
who have earned their livelihood in all the other branches
of writing, are now turning to radio to try their luck. In

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 79

the past glaring and scientific errors were committed too
often. Today elaborate research departments are maintained
to assure authenticity. Specialists like Raymond Ditmars,
the zoologist, and Paul de Kruif, bacteriologist, have been
called upon to eliminate blunders.

The space of an hour is required as the norm for the pre-
sentation of radio plays. An hour permits time for practically
all the dialogues and scenes. In most instances, the stage
business and intermissions can be omitted. A listener can
make sense out of a play that runs an hour. It is difficult
for him to warm up an imagination when a fifteen-minute
excerpt is flung at him. Many of the hour-long programs
have been extraordinarily appealing to the listener.

Streamlined Experiments

During the summer of 1937, D°th NBC and CBS engaged
in the experiment of producing Shakespeare. This period is
known as the Monday Evening Battle of the Bards for both
networks chose the same hour and the same day to educate
the masses in the less familiar plays of Shakespeare. The
rarity of Shakespeare on the air is due to the belief that the
multitudes could not endure Elizabethan drama. The net-
works decided to enter upon this artistic venture in spite of
the limitations of the twelve-year-old mind audience. It
was estimated by Alton Cook that the Fibber McGee and
Molly Program, commanded a fifty per cent larger audience
than the two Shakespearian productions on the air at the
same hour.

Columbia executives estimated over seven million five
hundred thousand listened to Edward G. Robinson in
the "Taming of the Shrew." NBC offered a series with
John Barrymore and his wife in what has been termed
streamlined Shakespeare. The plays offered by CBS brought
a number of principals from Hollywood who had their first

80 RAPE OF RADIO

opportunity to play Shakespeare. Burgess Meredith, hailed
by the critics as the Hamlet of 1940, essayed the role of
Hamlet. Edward G. Robinson became Petrucchio. Lionel
Barrymore wept with the pathos of the venerable King Lear.
Leslie Howard brought wit and ardor to Benedict.

To Cut or Not to Cut

Streamlined Shakespeare is the term by which Barrymore
characterized his cutting of the plays to fit the exigencies
of the microphone. "Hamlet," as penned by Shakespeare,
runs five hours on the stage. For the stage, Howard and
Gielgud, cut it to three. For radio, Barrymore reduced it
to forty-five minutes. In effect, Barrymore's condensed ver-
sions were merely tabloid impressions of the action. There
was much dramatic slicing and with more than two-thirds
of the text lopped off, only the genius of Barrymore stepping
in and out of monologue saved the experiment. Sound
effects and musical embellishment painted the psychological
background.

Barrymore employed the Greek device of a narrator who
sets forth to the radio audience the argument of the play
before reading the lines. Only the more dominant scenes
were selected, and these were enacted in full with appro-
priate music, to form tonal backgrounds equivalent to visual
action.

The rival network, CBS, entrusted to Brewster Morgan
the eight Shakespearian plays. Even the most expert play-
wright would be phased by the job of telescoping the parts
of "Henry IV" to fit into an hour's entertainment on
the air. Mr. Morgan succeeded in compressing six thou-
sand seven hundred and sixty lines of the original folio
into one thousand six hundred lines for a one-hour pro-
duction. All this had to be done skilfully without injury to
the heart of the drama, with a clear understanding of the

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 8l

listener's response to movement, clearness, and unity of
action. Shakespeare is ideal for radio. The playwright had
all the devices for conveying information about lapses of
times and shifts in locality by means of the dialogue.

Another experiment of note is the First Person Singular
method of Orson Welles. Orson Welles, a youngster with an
amazingly big voice, rapidly rose to importance in the the-
ater by his experiments in classic plays like "Julius Caesar."
Radio had already known him by his eerie, vibrant voice
as "The Shadow." In the summer of 1938, Columbia Broad-
casting Company offered him its Summer Theatre of the
Air for nine weeks' dramatic experiment. And so the Mer-
cury Theatre transplanted itself from the stage to the micro-
phone.

Let us engage ourselves to the method of Welles: Welles
decries the use of talk to set the stage. He says, "There is
nothing that seems more unsuited to the technique of the
microphone than to tune in a play and hear an announcer
say, 'The curtain is now rising on a presentation of . . .'
and then for him to set the stage, introduce the characters
and go on with the play. The curtain is not rising at all,
as everybody well knows, and this method of introducing the
characters and setting the locale seems hopelessly inadequate
and clumsy."

This conventional technique of radio drama has nothing of
the personal approach of the true theater. The First Person
Singular technique provides for a narrator who as the story-
teller is presumed to bring more intimacy to the dramatic
broadcast. The listener responds with a close intimacy when
the narrator immediately makes himself part of the action
and begins: "Now this is how it happened." Welles made
no undue claims for his innovation. He regarded the new
technique as merely an experiment in microphone drama
and experiments are better than consistency to old forms
designed for the stage.

82 RAPE OF RADIO

Welles made a startling impression with "Dracula." His
adaptation of novels suffered from the crowding of too much
plot into a single hour. On occasion, as in "The Thirty-nine
Steps," the drama was told almost entirely in the first person,
which makes the program referred to as, "I, Orson Welles."

The Grip of the Serials

Radio serials are called script shows or strip shows. The
first title implies that actors and actresses read their lines
from carefully prepared manuscript. The second name is
fastened to such programs because they adapt the technique
of so-called comic strips printed each day in the newspapers.
The inspiration for plots and ideas comes from popular
novels, plays, motion pictures and cartoon strips which are
already familiar to the public. On the air such characters
as "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch," "Alias Jimmy Valen-
tine," "David Harum" and "Stella Dallas" carry on from the
point where the book or play left off. Their adventures
appeal with added interest to those listeners who already
know the central characters.

Chicago holds the honor of mothering the first day-time
serials sometime in 1928. By virtue of the fact that soap
manufacturers of the Windy City fostered them, the serials
to this day are called "Soap Opera." And for this reason
too, one listener suggested that the networks are certainly
cleaning up with their oleaginous productions.

Infinitely various are the emotions which the serials play
for the purpose of amusement. One type develops stories
which stimulate a sense of power. Such serials invite their
listeners to identify themselves with a gallant, successful
criminal or with the detective or hero who thwarts him.
Other stories deal with terrible adventure and give pleasure
to the listeners through the emotion of fear. To this class
belong the thrillers. Another large group stimulates the

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 83

listener's desire for adventure and the hope of taking part
in scenes as unlike as possible his own dreary formula. The
serials constantly unearth certain emotions of the listeners.
They arouse and discharge these emotions in make-believe
situations.

Mrs. Elaine Sterne Carrington is one of the outstanding
serial script writers. "All my scripts," she confides, "are
written so that listeners can imagine themselves in the same
situations as the people in the cast. The daytime serials fill
a tremendous hole in lonely people's lives. Listeners take
the characters to heart and suffer, live, love and laugh with
them."

Such synthetic sorrow and suffering pour from the micro-
phone as to render the heart strings and loosen the purse
strings for a wide variety of products. About the only thing
missing is the moustasched villain who holds the mortgage
"poipers." On a given day it is possible to hear the anguish
of a crippled lad suffering a beating from a strong brat,
the tearful pleas of a patient begging a doctor to operate
on a hopeless case, and the hysterical cries of a woman on
the verge of a nervous breakdown. Intermingled are shat-
tered romances, innocents charged with murder and pitiful
eternal triangles.

The serials constantly spur the emotions and the listener
thus aroused discharges them in make-believe situations.
Most listeners are worried about love, money and business.
As a type of "escape fiction," the serial carries them out of
the humdrum through the triumph of character in tight
situations. The listener may shed tears and have his heart
wrenched by the course of events, but always he will in some
way feel appeased by the enactment of the episode.

Radio serials are the re-embodiment of the serials of silent
films. They follow the same laws of interest and suspense.
In the early screen days stalwart heroes such as Eddie Polo
and Charles Hutchinson invariably triumphed over das-

84 RAPE OF RADIO

tardly villains. A heroine such as Pauline met peril from
week to week unflinchingly, as she was left hanging from a
cliff, or rescued from a burning building. Here the appeal
was to the eye, and the visual representation of each episode
was measured with gripping suspense so as to bring the
movie fan back to the theater for the next episode. Simi-
larly, the plot of the radio serial is left hanging day by day.
The imagination, bestirred by the ear and not by the eye,
has its foundation in the personal interpretation of the
characters, each of whom is keenly etched on the mind of
the listener as to appearance and surroundings. The radio
serial has gripped the attention of listeners with amazing
hold. Millions enjoy that vicarious thrill of romance and
drama which comes within their personal measure of expe-
rience.

From twenty-two stations alone twenty serial stories pour
into the ears of the listeners every week over the networks.
The primary effort of such programs is to sustain interest
through suspense and climaxes which challenge the listeners'
solution.

From the brain of Carlton E. Morse, a former writer of
blood and thunder radio dramas, sprang the case study of
"One Man's Family," the Harbours, an average American
family with adolescent children. In April, 1932, the program
made its debut on KGO, San Francisco, and the following
year came to the ears of listeners as the first West Coast
serial to have nation-wide sponsorship. Today it remains in
the front rank of the hundreds of flimsy little playlets heard
on the air.

The Script Formula

The formula for air serials has been tested by time and
not been found wanting. First, the characters must be dis-
tinctly lovable and human, and awaken broad sympathy in
the listener.

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 85

Most of these scripts are success stories of the unsuccessful.
"Just Plain Bill," for instance, in his humble calling of
barber, is always in financial difficulties. "Lorenzo Jones" is
an inventor whose efforts while practically futile, through
continued zeal, command the listener's warm regard. Serial
characters make a real success of their lives by endearing
themselves to the folk around them.

Second, their actions should be believable. To this end
nothing illogical or inconsistent with character may be dwelt
upon. Hummert, the idea expert for many serials, explains
why. He says:

"The listener has a way of placing himself in the boots
of his 'mike' favorites and looks for a definite line of action
to which he would respond under certain situations. It is
really uncanny how the fan who follows the radio serial
will detect any inconsistency or flaw in character."

The hero must retain high principles and can not sud-
denly turn into the villain. If drastic changes are made in
character, protests pour into the broadcasting studio. Even
the death of a character may be regarded as inconsistent.
The death of Clifford's wife in "One Man's Family" brought
down the wrath of hundreds who regarded her decease as
unjustified by fate.

A less objectionable form of the serial is the comedy script
which brings joy to many a masculine heart. Among these
are the perennial "Amos 'n Andy," "The Goldbergs,"
"Myrt and Marge," "Easy Aces," "Vic and Sade."

The story of the Goldbergs is the story of the great Ameri-
can melting pot with all its early scenes set in New York
City. Molly Goldberg has a clinging philosophy developed
in girlhood which helps her through the years as she and
Jake, her husband, climb to a near-affluence which pulls
them through the depression. Gertrude Berg, creator of the
Goldbergs, in 1937 reputedly entered a million dollar con-
tract with the Procter and Gamble Company of Cincinnati

86 RAPE OF RADIO

to star in the series over a period of a year, five quarter-hour
episodes weekly.

Almost at any hour of the day you can pick out a dramatic
serial from comedy to melodrama to mystery designed to
appeal to mothers and wives while they do their household
chores. Often the commercial demands for serials is so great
that they are put on the networks.

"Vic and Sade" who began their air career in 1932, is
one. In the Gook family, Vic is the boyish minded father.
Sade is the typical small-budget housewife, who has her
hands full with her man and her inventive, chattering
semi-spoiled son whose name is Rush. The family lives in
a "smart" house half-way up the block, and America's heart
can throb with arguments about "Beef punkles" and "Lim-
ber Scharm" cheese.

Third, the serial should convey a representative picture
of everyday American life situations that are realistic. The
essential "realism" of the Barbour family impels listeners
to remark: "I am sure the author must be someone who
knows our family. That very thing happened in our home."

Once when Alice Frost, who plays the leading role in
"Big Sister," caught cold in one of the episodes, her personal
fan mail reached new proportions. Her radio "cold" was so
real that listeners sent their favorite cold cures to her. Nor
is it uncommon for stations to receive gifts to be forwarded
to the members of the "Barbour family" on their "birth-
days" or for Christmas.

The Blacket-Sample-Hummert Advertising Agency spe-
cializes in serials and has established a "script factory" for
their production. The headquarters of the "script factory"
is situated in Connecticut at the home of Frank Hummert
and his wife, Anne, where both dictate their ideas to a
battery of stenographers. A large force of writers whips the
ideas into dialogue form, and every line is carefully edited

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 87

by the Hummerts to guarantee that speech befits the
character.

Before the advent of the Radio Writers' Union, Mr. and
Mrs. Hummert claimed authorship of most of the scripts,
although they were written by anonymous hacks whose
average pay was the pittance of $5.00 per instalment. The
Hummerts dictate to their string of authors exactly the type
of cheap tabloid fiction which they have found makes the
most money. Any initiative or imagination shown by a
writer is quickly destroyed by such a plan since a successful
program pays the same wages as a mediocre one.

The Hummert mill produces 50 serial scripts a week, a
total of some 6,500,000 words a year. In their Greenwich,
Connecticut home Frank and Anne figure out the trends
of their serials four to six weeks in advance, dictate outlines
to stenographers. Outline for an episode (Backstage Wife)
may read something like this: "Suspecting that Cynthia Val-
court murdered Candy Dolan with Ward Ellman's gun,
after Tess left the flat, Mary, Larry and Ward rush to Tony
Valcourt's penthouse to have a talk with Tony and Cynthia,
having sent Tess Morgan to her apartment. Arriving at the
penthouse, they are refused admittance by the butler. . . .
If Cynthia gets away, Tess may take the rap for the crime.
Can they save her? . . . What will Tess do?"

When a script is finished by the ghost writers it goes to
an adjunct of the Hummert mill known as Air Features,
Inc., for production. No Hummert ghost may even stick his
nose inside Air Features' production studios.

By hiring dialogue writers, and not creators, the Hum-
merts save lots of money. Most serial writers in radio com-
mand $200 to $400 a week. For The Goldbergs, Gertrude
Berg gets about $2,000. The Hummerts pay a minimum
$25 per i5-minute script.

Among the serials they have conceived and produced for
radio are "Just Plain Bill," "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage

88 RAPE OF RADIO

Patch," "Our Gal Sunday," "Lorenzo Jones," "Stella
Dallas," "Second Husband," "Alias Jimmy Valentine,"
"John's Other Wife, "David Harum," "Popeye," "Mr.
Kean, Tracer of Lost Persons" and "Backstage Wife." Their
success is measured by the seventy-five million letters re-
ceived from fans each year. The Hummerts' shows have been
on the air for as long as eight years without a change of
sponsor.

Crime and law enforcement are vital themes to attract
male listeners who go beyond the homey and folksy appeal
of the afternoon serial. The "Gang Busters" dramatizes
actual crimes in a semi-narrative and dramatic method. Law
enforcement officers, such as Lewis E. Lawes, of Sing Sing
Prison, have been enlisted to lend an authoritative touch
and moral tone to such programs as "Twenty Thousand
Years in Sing Sing."

In his more recent broadcasting, Edward G. Robinson
is cast as a hard-boiled newspaper editor in "Big Town."
He has an audience among the thirty-minute entertainers
exceeded only by Jack Benny. Robinson is the protagonist
who exposes the rackets and cracks down on the malefactors.
So credible is his script and his acting, that he has actually
stirred up civic responsibility of officials in many communi-
ties. "Big Town" is one of the best examples of the three
requisites of serial writing. First, each episode is complete
in itself. Second, the story is credible. Third, the dialogue
is fast moving. The authors of Robinson's serials have been
Courtney Ryley Cooper, Arthur Caesar, Arch Oboler and
Art Holden.

Many popular novels have furnished the basis for the
serializations of the five-times-a-week broadcasts. Their em-
phasis is mainly on the psychological approach rather than
on violent action. The best artists have consented to appear
in the serializations of novels, even though critics have
deemed the vehicle unworthy of their art. Helen Hayes was

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 89

engaged for "Bambi" which was chosen not for the millions
in the big cities but for the vast scattered population of the
rural areas. In the hand of a lesser actress the words would
have been less meaningful, but Helen Hayes did the best
possible with none too engrossing situations.

An actress in radio is not concerned about the vehicle
which is provided for her. Helen Hayes justifies her appear-
ance in serials thus: "This serial is literate," she said.
"It has clever lines and its characters talk like people. Be-
sides, who is Helen Hayes except to a group that follows the
Broadway theatre?" The theory is that if the sponsors are
willing to lavish the talents of one of the greatest actresses
of our generation on a trivial playlet, the public ought not
to be ungrateful enough to object.

Once a show catches on, the loyalty of listeners is almost
beyond belief. They will send in box tops by the thousands
to insure the continuation of their serial drama.

Helen Menken is the serial queen of the air. Her adven-
tures in "Second Husband" are more dangerous emotionally
than physically, but the same pattern of climax is followed
as is found in the more hectic gangster episodes. Always the
question is asked at the end: "Well, what will happen next
time? Tune in again on Monday, and . . ."

The plot element and dialogue have something of the
nature of the pulpwood type of printed fiction, and the
slushy analysis of frustrated women plays on the heartstrings
of a world of feminine listeners.

"Second Husand" is homey and leisurely paced. The story
concerns a young widow, dressmaker of a western mining
town, who with her two children bravely faces the world,
wins the love of a rich easterner, and becomes Broadway's
most celebrated actress.

Helen Menken describes her first appearance in the role
as akin to groping in the dark without knowing what reac-
tions she would create. She need not have had any qualms

go RAPE OF RADIO

about the sure-fire success of a serial. The whole affair has
been characterized as kindergarten stuff for an actress of her
attainment. Without her subtle coloring of voice, the con-
ventional characterizations would have fallen flat.

Serial writers are guided by one injunction: "Take care
of the climax 1" Every device known to drama is employed
in the effort to sustain interest through suspense. If the
climax is weak the episode must be bolstered up. Many
writers first fix on the climax. The climax can always be
made hair-raising. The "suspense" formula is easily handled
by the writer. A dilemma is introduced on Tuesday and is
solved on Monday. The climax is reached on Friday, for the
listener must be left in a dither of excitement on that day
so that there will be sufficient interest to carry over the
week-end recess.

A radio serial fan was impelled to pen this complaint to
his radio station: "Carroll Kennedy has been kidnapped.
A burning house has fallen on 'Big Sister.' 'Aunt Jenny'
leaves a poor girl in a vacant house with a drunk. 'Helen
Trent* is shot at, and 'The O'Neils' lose a crook through
an open window. And nothing can be done about it all till
Monday!"

Often the climax may present a psychological crisis.
Sketches like "One Man's Family" and "The House of
Glass" disclose the intimate soul-reactions of familiar types.
We are regarded as a nation of eavesdroppers, ever alert to
find out what our next-door neighbor is saying.

The more popular serials are stories about everyday
people who are forced into quandries that awaken the
listeners' keen sympathy, and appeal to the common liking
for that which seems genuine and thoroughly human. Un-
usual events and experiences strikingly out of the ordinary
have their appeal because they take the listener away from
his own humdrum existence. Many serial programs have
captured the daily expectancy of a laugh through their

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES Ql

subtle touches on humorous situations enhanced by smart
dialogue, and unexpected complications.

A strong protest is being voiced against the cluttering up
of the air with these serials. The charge specifically is
i. These shows are too commercialized. 2. There are too
many of them. 3. They are too much alike. 4. The daylight
stretch is out of program balance.

The average time for commercials on a fifteen-minute
program is two minutes, forty-five seconds. The average
time for the actual plots in the sketches is eight minutes,
forty-five seconds. The rest of the time is consumed by
synopses, summaries, theme music and contest announce-
ments.

The National Council of Women and the General Federa-
tion of Women's Clubs organized a "We're Not Listening
Campaign." The agitation soon blew over. It was stated that
women of superior financial and cultural advantages were
assuming a crusading role on behalf of the "D" and "E"
grades who had no desire to be saved from the serial menace.
They wanted to be left alone to sob in peace, and not be
regaled by talks on book reviews and dramatic criticism.
Radio answers the hue and cry of the club women by assert-
ing that the pulpwood fiction is the natural mental level
and proper showmanly approach to the homes of two thou-
sand dollars and less income, or the mass market for soap,
and boiled fats.

Mrs. Wilfred Winans, President of the Woman's Club of
New Rochelle, expressed it: "We would like more good
music, book and play reviews, information about health,
child care, gardening, home decoration, a balance of the
practical and intellectual. Health should have a definite
place on programs where the listeners are home makers."
So the struggle goes on. Women may cry out for discussions
on domestic and international affairs, health, nutrition and
the like, but they continue to be served with the maudlin

Q2 RAPE OF RADIO

drivel of the serial. They will stand for light skits like "Vic
and Sade" to help them view their own domestic problems.
The American family, according to Mrs. Elaine Sterne
Carrington, has five big problems in common. And they are
here set down, because they are based on the mail she
received from all parts of the country:

1. Should the sixteen or seventeen year old boy or girl
be permitted to use the family automobile?

2. Should children be given an allowance or be paid for
chores, such as cutting the grass, shoveling snow or milking
the cow?

3. Should youngsters be given a latchkey or should the
family sit up and wait for Johnny to come home?

4. How late should the sixteen or seventeen year old
Mary stay out in the evening?

5. Why cannot a boy decide for himself whether he is to
go to college or go to work? For example, if a young man
wants to be an airplane pilot why should his parents insist
that he follow another career?

The Radio Debut of Poetic Drama

The failure of the average poet as a poetic dramatist arose
from his isolation in his Ivory Tower, far removed from the
lives and language of the masses. Radio compelled the
dramatist to get down to earth, because it deals with mass
entertainment. It remained for Archibald MacLeish to create
the first play in verse for air productions. Produced in the
spring of 1937 under the direction of Irving Reis of the
Columbia Workshop, "The Fall of the City" was acclaimed
as the first real dramatic classic of the air.

The plot of the play is significant. It portrays the coming
of a dictator to a free city and his enslavement of its popu-
lation. A dead woman speaks from her tomb to warn of
the coming of the conqueror. An announcer from a high

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 93

strategic post above the city square, bespeaks the fear and
panic of the multitudes below him, and communicates the
news of the conqueror's impending arrival. Other voices
utter forebodings — a statesman, an old general, and a priest,
each in his own way. Dawn draws near. The masses are
terrified, obsessed by the fear of the loss of their liberty.
The conqueror enters. The crowd casts away its weapons
and grovels in the dust. Only the announcer sees through
the emptiness of the conqueror. There is nothing inside the
armor of the conqueror, his brass headpiece is empty, and
the crowd has been vanquished by its fears alone.

In MacLeish's scheme of poetic radio drama, the an-
nouncer becomes the most useful dramatic personage since
the Greek Chorus, whose function was and is to anticipate
events, to interpret events, and to excite the emotions.

Written dramas for the stage have always felt the necessity
of some sort of commentator. "The commentator is an inte-
gral part of radio technique," said MacLeish. "His presence
is as natural as it is familiar, and his presence without more,
restores to the poet that obliquity and perspective, that
three-dimensional depth without which great poetic drama
cannot exist."

MacLeish believes that the radio techniques are perfectly
adapted to the poetic method. Writers of prose plays for
radio have practically ignored the tools which poetic drama
affords. They write for radio as they would write for the
stage. MacLeish regards the absence of television as an
added opportunity for the playwright: "With the eye closed
or staring at nothing, this has every power over the air.
The air accepts and believes, accepts and creates. The ear
is the poet's perfect audience, his only true audience, and
it is radio and only radio which can give him access to
this perfect friend."

Although "The Fall of the City" was heralded as a mile-
stone in the art of broadcasting, many manifest faults

94 RAPE OF RADIO

marred its understanding. Orrin E. Dunlap, Jr., described
the play as "sing-song literature of the air with a narrator
who had something of the Shakespearean flavor plus the
manner of a McNamee describing a football game." This
is an aspersion on Orson Welles, who played the part of the
announcer. Actors rushed through their lines so quickly
that the listener did not have time to see the scene. Even
the poetic drama required pauses necessary to grip the
imagination.

MacLeish sought for simplicity in the use of words and
restraint. The problem of the radio play is the same as for
all creative mediums. The playwright was mindful that
radio characters must be etched. He was also mindful that
radio drama is still reliant on sound. The voice of the
announcer, ringing with dramatic foreboding, "Smoke is
filling the valleys like thunder heads — the sun is yellow
with smoke — the town is burning — let the conqueror have
it, the age is his — masterless men take a master — men must
be ruled — he tramples his shadow — the people invent their
oppressors."

Archibald MacLeish repeated his first success in "Air
Raid" performed by the Columbia Workshop in 1938. The
ominous drone of the planes, the shriek of the sirens, all
recur like a sinister theme in a turbulent symphony. John
Mason Brown regards it as a "little masterpiece, so bruising
in its irony and so terrific in its suspense and so moving
in its unadorned and lovely language that I for one, only
wish the theatre could claim it as its own.

"It is studded with characters who are quickly and unfor-
gettably established as symbols of sufferings — old women,
gossips, and young lovers whose every speech is a cry from
their hearts that stabs its way into ours."

Using the same devise as in "The Fall of the City"
MacLeish made his narrator a radio announcer, stationed
on a tenement roof, awaiting an enemy bombing raid:

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 95

Strange and curious these times we live in:
You watch from kitchens for the bloody signs:
You watch for breaking war above the washing
on the lines.

The feeling of terror and dread is dramatically projected.
There the tension is increased by stressing the time element.
The number of minutes that have passed are announced
with regularity and so, too, are the number of minutes that
must be endured before the dreaded arrival of enemy planes.
The populace refuses to believe that when the bombing
planes arrive they will be the first to die. The planes swing
into strategic formation. Women shout their defiance. But
Death sweeps the towns.

The genius of Maxwell Anderson turned to original radio
drama in "Feast of Ortolans," presented over NBC's net-
work in 1937. The action begins at the dinner table in the
chateau of a French noble on the eve of the French Revo-
lution. Here are assembled a group of famous writers,
intellectuals and noblemen such as Beaumarchais, Lafayette,
Condorcet, and Philippe of Orleans. Anderson tried the
experiment of having no individual protagonist of the
action. Instead, the individual emerges from the group as
a representative of that group. Thus Lafayette speaks not
only as the idealist of the gathering but for idealism. At
various times during the half hour of the play the radio
audience may not know who is talking.

Another special radio play written by Anderson, "The
Bastion of St. Gervais," is the story of four young Americans
who went to Spain to fight on behalf of the Loyalist forces.
The action takes place on the ruins of a Bastion hillside.
Here is a play built without sound effects except for the
defiant shots of a sniper, the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun,
the moan of a dying Moor calling to Allah, and in the finale,
the foreboding climax of the enemy soldiers closing in on
the ruined castle where the Americans faced their fate.

96 RAPE OF RADIO

Anderson's productions have been termed "voice plays,"
ingeniously dialogued. "Dialogue is my paint brush," he
says. In Anderson's plays, every sentence is significant of
pathos, suspense, the tensities of the scene. Nothing but
tragedy marks the lines, and the comic spirit is suppressed.

Alfred Kreymbourg was prompted to turn to radio be-
cause he deemed it a medium which makes a most direct
appeal to the imagination. In his poetic play, "The Planets"
(CBS, 1937), he demonstrated the theory that radio dialogue
need not be highbrow. Withal the language of the plot is
so simple. No over lengthy speeches impede the action.
Kreymbourg holds that poets must write on the level with
the people on the level of radio.

The central figure of Kreymbourg's allegorical drama is
an old astrologer who on seeing the earth threatened by
invading armies makes an effort to save the human race by
mirroring the horrors of past wars. He points his glass
toward the heavens and searches for peace. In the course of
his starry adventures he meets the planetary gods, Mars,
Mercury, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, who roamed the earth
as in the days of Greece.

Kreymbourg's drama proved that in radio, not only can
the scene be shifted without scene shifters but it is possible
to jump from planet to planet. Kreymbourg's management
of over thirty characters makes it difficult for the listener
at times to know who is talking. Voices cut in abruptly and
"for sixty minutes," says one critic, "the listeners were sus-
pended in space."

Such a treatment of radio drama indicates a startling
resourcefulness which the medium holds for the ingenious
author. Kreymbourg himself says: "While 'The Planets' can
be performed on stage or screen, its prime consideration is
the ear, and its background unhampered space. Further-
more, radio sets a limit on the time people can act or tune
in. In this case it is one hour. This restriction has the

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 97

virtue of forcing an author to concentrate his energies, and
to employ (whether he knows it or not) the Greek dramatic
form — the short play without intermission."

Perhaps the use of ornamentalizing radio drama through
verse has for its chief value the illusion of world removed
from reality. The poetic level impels listeners to attune
themselves more easily to that state of feeling to which the
author wishes to make them most susceptible. W. Somerset
Maugham deplored the demand for realism in the theater
because it led the theater to abandon the "ornament of
verse." The use of the verse, he found, had specific dramatic
value due to the emotional power of rhythmic speech.

Sound Effects

Radio turned to sound effects for realism and its stage
sets. Sound effects create picture effects, and help create that
illusion upon which the imagination of the listener feeds.
Radio sans television has no scenery except the scenery of
sounds. In the Elizabethan drama, the audience was obliged
to imagine a forest by reading a sign on the stage, "This
is a forest." The radio audience sees the forest through the
ear by catching the swish of the wind and the falling of
leaves.

The use of sound effects has made possible a kaleidoscopic
movement in drama. The play may concern a heroine in a
terrific struggle with her husband. She leaves the house,
grabs her suitcase, jumps into a taxi and orders the driver
to speed to the pier. She wants to catch the first boat out.
On the legitimate stage dramatic action such as this would
require the choice of one of these scenes to expound the
plot. The scene selected might be the woman's home, the
taxicab, or the pier. In radio drama, sound effects make
possible a swift sequence of this action, cinema-like in its
rapid transition. We hear the noise of the scuffle in the

98 RAPE OF RADIO

home; furniture thrown about; panes of glass broken. We
catch the roar of the city traffic while the taxi honks; on
the docks the siren of the boat sounds a shrill warning.

Sound effects may be divided into five sections: vocal,
manual, electrical, recordings and acoustical. NBC has over
twelve thousand sound recordings in its library. Records take
care of about seventy-five per cent of the effects heard over
the air. Radio has created a new group of specialists in this
field. Manual effects include those which cannot be re-
corded, but must be created by the sound man. Windows
and doors, telephone noises, door bells do not require any
special ingenuity in creating. Here the real thing is the
thing,

Today audible vibrations are picked up at their source
and recorded for instant use on the turntable cabinet. The
cabinet contains electro-phonograph pickups, amplifiers, and
loud speakers. One operator can handle as many as six
records at once, all of which requires the utmost skill for
mixing sounds to get the right effects. NBC has thousands
of sound effects on disks recorded at their natural points
of origin, ready for instant use, and these effects can be
tripled or even quadrupled in number by running the disks
faster or slower, or by combination. Like a chemist experi-
menting with new mixtures, the operator is always experi-
menting with new sound mixtures.

The first sound effects in radio drama went on the air
in 1922, over WGY, Schenectady, during a broadcast of
"The Wolf," the drama of Eugene Walter. The director
of the play slapped two pieces of wood together to simulate
the slamming of a door. From this point on, sound effects
emerged as the triumph of art and engineering. Among
the pioneers in this field are Walter Pierson, sound-effect
director at CBS since 1933, and Ray Kelley who has held the
same position at NBC for over a decade. Kelley instituted

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 99

the sound effects library and solved sound puzzles which
seemed beyond solution.

Animal sounds are still produced by the human voice,
and many by experts who know how to handle their vocal
chords. It is simple enough to simulate hoof beats by tap-
ping the chest with plungers, and a good villainous stabbing
can be established by thrusting a knife into a watermelon.

In the studio a kiss remains a kiss, but in this instance the
lips always meet the kisser's own hand. Squeeze water
alternately from two rubber bulbs and you hear yourself
milking a cow. The buzz of swarming bees comes from a
little horn. A battle is a complicated piece of sound-effect
business. For the big guns they use tympani and thunder
gun. The rattle of musketry is nothing else than short sticks
beaten rapidly on the leather bottom of a chair.

When Gertrude Berg's script calls for the frying of eggs,
she actually fries them in front of the microphone, but she
could achieve the same sound effect by crumpling a piece of
cellophane.

Washing dishes is easier over the air than in real life.
A seltzer bottle squirted across the microphone produces
this effect. James Lyons, NBC sound effects man at San
Francisco, was not to be outdone for realism. During a
Death Valley Days broadcast, to simulate the sound of a
prospector washing clothes, he washed two pairs of socks
and five handkerchiefs before the microphone.

A commercial client who wished to give talks on poultry
wanted to get the realistic effects by bringing a coop of hens
and a lusty rooster to the studio. A plentiful supply of corn
was scattered around the microphone. The microphone was
connected to a recording device. The rooster began to crow
in his best fashion.

Many calls are made upon Bradley Barker, specialist in
animal noises. Barker has given years of his life to the per-
fecting of his art. He spent many seasons with the circus,

100 RAPE OF RADIO

learned various grunts, growls, whines and roars of animals
so accurately that he could differentiate between the roar
of a female and male lion.

For realism one would have to blow up a mine, but why
go to this sorrow? Get a pile of cardboard boxes filled with
stones and permit them to tumble before the mike.

Vocal effects today are uncommon. They are used when
a unique animal sound or baby cry is required. There is
a certain young active Dorlore Gillen who emits such life-
like baby cries that one would swear that there was an infant
in the studio who plays the role of baby Davy in "The Story
of Marlin."

The sound which the listener hears most often in drama is
the whizz of the automobile; next in frequency is the noise
of the airplane; third, the beat of horses' hoofs. Sounds
require the most exact cuing. Improper timing will make a
scene sound ridiculous. Certain sounds, like the closing of
a door, are best effected by the real thing. Realism demands
a variety of doors — automobile doors, front doors, gates, iron
doors.

There may be as many as a dozen different noises on one
side of a record. When records of sounds are used it is
important that the operator count the grooves as the needle
revolves around so as to stop it exactly at the right moment.
Sound records are timed to the lines of the actors.

Sound Effects in Voice

Irving Reis found that crude sound effects marred radio
drama and defeated its purpose by presenting insufficient
or wrong images. A toot on a whistle might be sufficient to
convey the effect of a water-front scene, but only a limited
effect. The listener has a subconscious feeling that something
is lacking. A single artificial sound effect may be enough
to make the play unreal. Faithful sound bestirs the mind in

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 1O1

a manner beyond the vocal skill of the average actor. It was
the aim of Reis to employ sound as the strongest stimulant
to the imagination and to arouse emotions in an abstract
way, to convey definite impressions of mood beyond the
familiar type of background noises such as hoof-beats, auto-
mobile sounds, shots of pistols and the like. A single cello
note on an electric oscillator changing in pitch and in tone
adds impressively to the dramatic action and carries what
has been termed an ''awful psychological wallop." In "Tell
Tale Heart" Reis used an electrical stethoscope and mag-
nified the human heart beat ten million times. When "Gul-
liver's Travels" was produced, four studios were used to re-
duce some voices and magnify others, and keep still others
normal. The giant was pictured by a huge, booming voice
and the little fellows by small voices.

The Columbia Workshop has given strong impetus to the
study of new effects in vocal acoustics. "On the Columbia
Workshop," said Irving Reis, "we have to take the wrinkles
out of a voice. Through the use of an electrical filter, we add
or subtract a rasp, a lisp, a growl, at will. We have learned
how to enlarge a sound until, like a closeup in the movies,
it occupies the entire space of our drama. We know how to
pinch a sound down until the man's voice becomes no
louder than the scratching of a pinpoint on ivory. We have
learned to make sound more gruesome and distant by throw-
ing it through an echo-chamber. We have even invented
new sounds to express things unheard — or added a strange
sound to a normal one to get an exotic effect — like gold dust
powder over Marlene Dietrich's hair. We have learned that
on the air the tonal quality of an actor's voice is as im-
portant as his diction and expression to express personality."

Radio drama still overdoes sound effects, and like the
old-time melodrama, relies upon brutal noises, like gunshots.
Unless a sound effect clarifies a piece of stage business, it

102 RAPE OF RADIO

is useless. The ideal radio drama is scenery-less. Maxwell
Anderson attempts to achieve realism by the marriage of
realistic sounds within the dialogue. The radio dramatist
can pull on the heart strings of the listener by making sound
effects an inherent part of the action so that the listener
emotionalizes with the characters in moments of tenderness,
kindness, and love.

Instruction for production of a recent chapter in one of
those serial thrillers included this direction: "Do not give
sound effect of arm being torn from socket. Just imply it."

Radio Drama Goes Hollywood

Radio drama in 1936 took flight from the East to the
capital of the movies. The alliance of the networks with the
film-producing companies was strengthened when both NBC
and CBS built palatial playhouses and broadcasting centers
in the very heart of Hollywood.

Rudy Vallee helped put Hollywood on the radio map.
Rudy went to the Coast in 1928 to make pictures, but
managed to fulfill his broadcasting contracts at the same
time. His program went on the air from a barn-like studio
on the movie lot with the most primitive monitoring booth
and sound effects. It was a far cry from the Columbia Play-
house with its acoustically perfected studios.

Experimental programs by NBC originating in New York
dispelled the fear that the box office would be hurt if movie
stars were permitted to play on the air. For these programs
the stars had to come by plane to New York for a weekly
Hollywood program on the networks.

No programs of a network nature came from Hollywood
before 1932. Commercial programs had switched into Holly-
wood occasionally to present movie stars like Clark Gable
or Ginger Rogers, who made their bows with "Hello,
Everybody!" followed by a few minutes of chit-chat. No

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES

one dreamed of casting a movie star in a preview or a post
view of a movie play.

When MGM finally became convinced that the tabloid
dramatic presentation of their film stories would be an
important means of building up box-office patronage, the
stars of the cinema were enlisted, and radio drama began
to emanate from Hollywood. Many sponsors sought MGM,
Ford Motor Cars, Palmolive, Socony Vacuum, Lucky Strike.

Louella Parsons had already introduced the system ot
getting movie stars to exploit scenes from their new produc-
tions without pay. As the first newspaperwoman to devote
herself exclusively to movie gossip, she used to "invite" the
stars to be interviewed before the microphone. Few refused
the proffer of publicity which she controlled though many
grumbled at being asked to perform for nothing.

The drama productions of "Hollywood Hotel" were
heralded in 1933 as great contributions to the radio arts.
In effect, they were capsuled versions of the latest motion
pictures, heavily incrusted with plugs for the sponsor. Their
popularity was proved by the increase of the sponsor's sales
by thirty million dollars in the two and one-half years that
William Bacher took over their direction.

After four and a half years on the air, "Hollywood Hotel"
passed into oblivion and gave way to Orson Welles' "Mer-
cury Theatre of the Air." A change in method has been
going on gradually. "Hollywood Hotel" made its first switch
by dropping previews in favor of completed stories, on that
part of the program known as "Campbell Playhouse."
Welles' choice of plays was distinctly modern, with plenty
of romantic interest, nothing of the thriller or intellectual
stuff.

The largest part of Hollywood's air policy has been to
present scenes from forthcoming pictures. The Lux Radio
Theatre, with the producers of "Seventh Heaven" starring
Miriam Hopkins and John Boles, began its Hollywood cycle

104 RAPE OF RADIO

under the advertised direction of Cecil B. De Mille in 1938.
There were hopes that the master producer of movie drama
might infuse radio drama with new impulses and tech-
niques. No such miracle happened. De Mille merely lent the
aura of his name. The actual producer of these productions
was Frank Woodruff who, with a passion for detail, did what
was possible with telescoped drama.

The De Mille plays follow the familiar formula: A nar-
rator, who sets the scene, a movie drama cut into three
"acts" to fit the time limits, the usual complement of sound
effects, the trick of recalling the feature players to prattle
about the product, the commercials that clutter up the kilo-
cycles between the acts.

The era of Hollywood drama has established certain prin-
ciples in the creation and in the acting of scripts which seem
germane to the methods of the movie. Movie scripts within
the conventional formula are more easily adapted to radio
than a stage play. The scenes of the movie scripts are shorter,
changes in locale more frequent and the pace more varied.
The film scenario offers a simple task for radio adaptation.

Hollywood movie plays converted to radio, however,
suffer from compression. The Lux Radio Theatre uses forty-
three minutes for the play and gives over the rest of the
hour to the ingratiating and pompous between-the-acts
effusions of De Mille, curtain speeches and plugs for the
sponsor. The effect upon the listener is that of receiving a
slice of the pie instead of the whole pie. Intelligent listeners
are tantalized not only by the snippy excerpts from movie
stories, but by the glorified plugs for the pictures.

The myth that Hollywood could produce bigger and
better drama than the East has been exploded. The problem
involves not geographical locale but, rather, good plays
technically constructed for radio and competent production.
Vigorous, powerful and brilliant drama can be built up and
produced in California just as it can in New York. In spite

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 105

of all propaganda about the advantages of Hollywood, radio
drama coming from Hollywood and New York sound about
the same as they emerge from the loud speaker.

Whatever virtues Hollywood drama may have, it has also
served to show how radio drama should not be produced.
Hollywood can not point with pride to many of its tabloid
radio dramas undone by actor, producer and writer un-
familiar with the demands of the microphone. When
producers insist on certain stars who, because of other
assignments, can not be present at rehearsals, the results are
bound to be sloppy and inadequate. Hollywood drama often
has the earmarks of a hurry-up job.

The networks have attempted to build up the personality
of radio performers to such an extent that when they do
appear on the screen they will find an audience that is
thoroughly familiar with their personalities as disclosed by
voice alone. What sounds good on the air can be made to
sound better when cameraized. For some reason, however,
Amos 'n Andy never fared well in pictures. Their first
experiment was not repeated.

A picture version of a successful serial story thrives upon
an established radio audience that is already familiar with
the setting, the characterization, and the plot of the story.
Radio brought to the pictures "One Man's Family" and
"Hollywood Hotel." The time may come when it will be
necessary to develop players who are not steeped in the
Hollywood tradition.

The roster of actors on Hollywood programs consists
almost entirely of pure movie names. Hollywood drama has
fostered the star system. The radio actor is assauged by the
hope: "Don't cry! You may be a Don Ameche by and by!"
With a start at the radio helm, sponsors feel more secure
about their advertising investment. A twenty-four carat
movie-name eliminates the sponsor's difficult task of develop-
ing stars of his own. Clark Gable, for example, may come

106 RAPE OF RADIO

high, but he involves no gamble. On the air the movie star
has an immeasurable advantage over the player whose fea-
tures and temperament and type are unknown to the listen-
ers. Hollywood glamour remains irresistible to the radio fan.
Listeners have already been touched by the glamour and
the romance of their favorite Hollywood stars in their screen
performances.

When sponsors began to ask for big names, salaries began
to soar to fantastic levels. The price war was on when Danny
Danker of the J. Walter Thompson Agency went to Holly-
wood to put on shows for Lux Theatre. Picture people who
had been previously cajoled to work for nothing were
amazed to be offered a salary. Hollywood Hotel ran up a
total talent bill of seventeen thousand dollars. Several pro-
grams ran as high as thirty thousand dollars a week. In
1938, some six hundred film actors took in five thousand
dollars average for radio work. It must be remembered, by
way of comparison, that hardly one of the hits current on
the Broadway stage cost as much as a single half-hour pro-
gram in radio's high brackets.

The Hollywood motion picture talent market for radio
has something of a scale of prices for various classes of
players, from three hundred and fifty dollars up. For in-
stance, the "asking" price for a single radio performance
is three thousand five hundred dollars for Joan Crawford,
Claudette Colbert, Jeanette MacDonald, Lily Pons, Frances
Langford and Ginger Rogers. About two thousand five hun-
dred dollars is asked for Jack Oakie, Lionel Barryraore,
George Raft, Edward Arnold and Herbert Marshall. Ann
Sothern, Alice Faye and Zasu Pitts may be had for one thou-
sand five hundred dollars, while Joel McCrea, Jane Withers,
Edmund Lowe, Pat O'Brien, Barbara Stanwyck, Fred
MacMurray and Victor McLaglen demand one thousand
dollars per air show. Such luminaries as Grace Moore, John
Barrymore and Fredric March command higher fees.

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 107

The employment of Hollywod stars has been estimated to
have added ten per cent to the cost of radio talent, bringing
up the talent charges for the average national network pro-
gram to forty per cent of the program's production costs.

There are signs that the picture star in radio is regarded
by the listener more critically than on the screen. Sponsors
have discovered that it takes more than a glamorous name
to make people listen. "Star studding" of a program is no
substitute for sloppily produced plays. Surveys have shown
that many listeners decide not to see a picture because they
were not impressed by its broadcast version or by the efforts
of the star before the microphone. Hence, there is a genuine
danger to the box office if a scene from a current picture is
badly handled on the air.

Many "guests" from the screen often fail dismally in the
interpretation of their lines. The fault may lie in inadequate
preparation and the nature and quality of the dialogue. The
microphone performance of Marion Davies and Joel McCrea
in "The Brat" suffered from a stumbling rendition that had
no semblance of art.

Norma Shearer's performance in "Marie Antoinette" was
nothing like her screen work. She gave the script a light
once-over on the Thursday before going on the air, and
failed to rehearse with the cast the night before the pro-
gram. Lack of rehearsal failed to give the radio producer
accurate timing of the script, and caused the program to be
cut by NBC when it ran overtime.

Recent developments indicate that the film industry is
beginning to change its policies with regard to radio. The
producers do not wish to lose control over their featured
players. They established a "secret" committee of production
experts on the Coast to observe the stars' radio activities. It
was supposed to "regulate" them, in principle at least.
Twentieth Century Fox proposed in February, 1939, to
buy back the radio contracts of certain of its stars.

108 RAPE OF RADIO

The star is now tied up by the clauses in his contract that
reserve to the film producers radio and television rights.
In addition, the practice of certain film companies is to put
on their own radio programs and, under special contracts,
the star is no longer made available for other sponsors.

Paramount has a distinct leaning toward radio because
its stars originally came from that media, among them being
Burns and Allen, Jack Benny, Bing Crosby, Bob Hope,
Martha Raye, Bob Burns and Dorothy Lamour.

Variety recently reported that for every star subject to
anti-radio pressure from the film studios, the advertising
agencies can turn to dozens who are free agents either
because of the terms of their film contracts or because of
their free lance standard.

A big star such as Edward G. Robinson can strike out for
himself unfettered. Robinson had no radio clauses in his
contract and went on the air in spite of the disapproval of
Warner Brothers. The success of his new program, "Big
Sister," put new life into the waning Hollywood-Radio
relationship, and was mainly responsible for his big salary
jump for pictures he made for producers other than Warner
Brothers. He used to get forty thousand dollars per picture,
and now it is a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars.
Now he gets five thousand five hundred for each radio pro-
gram, and this is radio's top for dramatic stars.

The Future of Radio Dramas

The networks may pride themselves on some notable
drama achievements. Several historical cycles have been
done with great art and distinction, but drama still remains
in its experimental stage, and even though the stage took
thousands of years to reach its present form, it is hoped
that radio may round out for itself perfected norms and
techniques.

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES log

It is generally known that intelligent listeners regard
with abhorrence the general run of radio plays. Most of
these are poorly written affairs, hastily slapped together by
inexperienced writers and given haphazard production. The
average radio play seldom departs from a slush formula.

Signs are that the radio audience is slowly being educated
to appreciate good drama. America is going through the
same experience as England in this business of weaning
away the listener from competitive programs. Val Gielgud,
the dramatic director of BBC, calls attention to the changing
attitude of the public: "In England about 1930, radio drama
was regarded with a mixture of contempt and faint amuse-
ment by press and public alike. At best it was regarded as
a dismal pis aller for the benefit of people who were unable
to go to the theater owing to the factors of distance and
expense. It soon became clear that the main obstacle to be
surmounted was the unfamiliarity of the medium to the
average listener."

American audiences, at first attracted by big names, will
some time come to insist on good plays. The broadcasting
of plays is beginning to grow in authority and public in-
terest, and just as the BBC is regarded as the National
Theatre of Great Britain, so our big network systems can
satisfy the public convenience and necessity by providing
listeners with a national theater of the United States.

Important impetus can be given to the radio drama move-
ment by drama guilds operating in separate communities,
affording both the writer and the actor a field for presenta-
tion of original or adapted works. Orson Welles had this
idea in mind when he said: "I think it is time that radio
came to realize that no matter how wonderful a play may
be for the stage it cannot be as wonderful for the air. We
plan to bring to radio the experimental techniques which
have proved so successful in another medium, and to treat

110 RAPE OF RADIO

radio itself with the intelligence and respect which such
a beautiful and powerful medium deserves."

Radio has been charged with being voracious with its
material. A program is produced once and probably never
again. Music is the exception. There is no doubt that great
plays can be done over and over again with success. Radio
can build up a repertory of classic and popular drama that
would vie with music in appeal. The radio audience at the
present time is not a theater audience, but once the ardor
catches on, radio will be way ahead of the stage.

Gilbert Seldes called attention to the fact that radio has
now only one backlog — the repertory of musical classics.
Adding a second, in the repertory of classic drama, he claims
would give radio drama a solidity which it requires. "Great
plays," wrote Seldes, "can be played over and over again
with great success. Shakespeare can be made a permanent
feature of broadcasting if new players are cast in the prin-
cipal roles." And Heaven knows America has a plentiful
crop of new players.

In the experimental dramas instituted by CBS Work-
shop under the direction of Irving Reis, a new impulse
was given to radio drama. Here was a pioneer, an engineer
experimenting with sound and voice able to create new
effects in composition. The Workshop first came into promi-
nence when Reis produced his own "St. Louis Blues" in
1934. The play deals with the reaction of various people to
the wailing of the saxophones. It scored a smart hit and won
Reis recognition. It has been done eight times in this and
other countries, and it should be done once a year, just as
a lesson to production men throughout the country.

Reis's next offering was "Meridian 7-1212," the number
dialed by New Yorkers who desire to know the time of day
or night. The drama written around it was a thriller, the
climax coming when the operator on duty announced mid-
night. Her brother went to the electric chair at midnight.

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 111

You can imagine the gripping finale as the girl told the time
and collapsed.

Radio has the power to shift scenery in the twinkling of
an eye. In "Meridian 7-1212" the author deals with dramatic
material essentially suited to microphone production. The
plot concerns the editor of the paper who is in desperate
need of a story. He sends a reporter to see if there is any
human interest stuff in the lives of the telephone girls who
give the exact time. The listener is shown, in a number of
powerful flash-backs, how important the exact time may be
in the lives of people. The protagonist is the telephone
operator in the Meridian exchange who has a brother in the
death house at Sing Sing. At midnight he is to be executed.
She watches the big clock. She continues to announce the
time. The climatic moment arrives. Her nerve bears with
her while she utters, "When you hear the signal it will be
exactly twelve o'clock." Then follows a dull thud, the tele-
phone girl has collapsed. The futility and irony of the
drama is concentrated in the report of the reporter to his
editor, "The only people who call Meridian 7-1212 are those
whose watches have stopped, or those who are too lazy to
go into the next room to find the time."

"Radio drama is still hackneyed," Reis told the writer
in an interview. "After a long period of continuous listen-
ing for my log engineering sheet, I realized that the script
authors were not taking full advantage of the medium of
radio. It is possible that they were more concerned with the
way their scripts looked on paper than they would sound
over the air. But it's the ear and mind that the programs had
to be written for, and that's one fact I always remembered."

Sound effects have played important parts in all of Reis's
radio creations. He terms them as important, if not more
important, in some cases, than the actors. But when Reis
speaks of sound effects, he doesn't mean the usual type of
background noise, to wit, horses, hoofbeats, automobile

112 RAPE OF RADIO

horns, pistol shots, etc. He means such abstract sounds as a
single cello note or an electric oscillator hum, changing in
pitch and tone along with the dramatic action. In addition
to cello and oscillator background, the young engineer-
author has used other abstract sound effects, notably human
voices.

"I haven't perfected radio drama by a long shot/' Reis
remarked. "There's still plenty of room for improvement
and I expect to do much experimenting."

The new director of the Workshop, William N. Robson,
hopes to broaden and deepen popular appreciation of the
theater, and hopes in particular to elevate the standards of
radio drama — about which, from time to time, there have
been cries of despair both from critics and from listeners.

Directing the Play

The ideal director of a radio drama should be a master
mind. "A director," said Margaret Webster, "needs just
about everything." The earlier radio productions were
thrown together by amateurs in directing without regard to
the limitations imposed by the microphone.

The function of the director of radio drama is first of
all to understand the meaning and methods and message
of the play. He senses the mood of the script, in terms of the
spoken word. The director then searches for a suitable cast.
Upon his judgment will depend the total effect in voice
characterization without benefit of the eye. A play that is
miscast in voice had better not be done at all. Vocal inter-
pretation must show plausibility, be it the voice of the
grandfather, the child, or the lover. When the voice goes
far off the mark, the listener grows incredulous and blots
the actor off the air as an impostor.

The director chooses his actors with an ear to specific
tonal effects in voice. Players are selected whose pitch range

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 11$

fits the scheme of the character. Irving Reis showed
extraordinary judgment in selecting actors whose voices were
flexible enough to lend themselves to experiments in tone.
"In radio," he declared, "we now cast the roles as an
orchestrator of music selects certain instruments to obtain
a particular emotion. We have even experimented upon
the similarity of certain voice qualities to musical qualities
and found they could be made much alike."

Air directing, Mr. Stanford has found, comes straight back
to the theater. Timing, pacing, tempo, showmanship, all
have the same relationship to producing a good show that
they have on Broadway. His first care has been to throw
microphone tradition out of the window and make his actors
feel comfortable and authentic in their characterizations.
Wallace Beery played "The Old Soak" with his shirt open
at the neck and his suspenders hanging down. Paul Muni
had a coat rack put beside the microphone so that he could
actually grab his coat, jam on his hat, and rush away in
"Counsellor-at-Law." Mr. Stanford, when it is possible, al-
ways has his players do their own doors, having learned from
long experience in the theater that sometimes the way a door
is closed can make a telling dramatic climax.

Walter Huston thought all the fuss was a little unneces-
sary. But when he did "The Minuet," as blank a bit of
elocution as ever went over the air, on the Vallee hour a few
weeks later without rehearsal, he had to admit that the Lux
people were right.

Next comes the rehearsal. A director's hardest work comes
at rehearsals. A successful play must have enough rehearsal
time to make a finished production and not a script-reading.
Inadequate preparation has killed off many dramas on the
air. It is an easy temptation to cut down rehearsals since
the play never goes on for over an hour, rarely to be
repeated.

Producers are slowly realizing that a radio play demands

114 RAPE OF RADIO

just as much consistent rehearsal as does a stage production.
Indeed, it takes much more practice and patience to coordi-
nate the actors in an air drama. Leading stars of the theater,
anxious to retain their reputations on the air, seriously
devoted themselves to rehearsal. Even though Jane Cowl
had appeared before the footlights over a thousand times
in "Smilin' Thru" she spent two solid weeks rehearsing her
part, prior to her microphone debut. Some actresses throw
themselves just as strenuously into rehearsal as for the final
performance. During rehearsal Elsie Ferguson wept bitterly
while enacting the pathetic roles of "Madame X" and
"Camille," affecting her fellow-performers in the same way.

It takes more than a stop-watch and familiarity with
studio routine to make a dramatic director. Many directors
lack the necessary background of the theater. The Lux
Radio Theatre always employed professional directors. It
was the custom of Mr. Stanford, the director, to give out
his scripts on Monday, work for five hours at his task of
getting the play jellied. He rehearsed on Wednesday and
Thursday. On Friday, he held the first dress rehearsal. On
Saturday, the cast rested. On Sunday, everybody was in the
studio by eleven and worked right on until two. The show
went on at two-thirty.

The director's prime requisite is an ability to listen, to im-
bue the play with its finest personal element, to make mere
sound emerge as the spiritual embodiment of the author.
After repeated criticism and rehearsal, instead of an empty
reading, the production will be filled with the breath of
life. Long hours of rehearsal are behind broadcasts such as
"The Fall of the City." To achieve the proper sound effects,
the program was staged in the Seventh Regiment Armory
in New York. Its vast drill area made possible acoustical
effects that approximated the square of a big city in tumult.
Four microphones were placed to get the right balance, and
the echoes of a mob of one hundred and fifty added to the

RADIO DRAMA ADVANCES 115

realistic effect. A simple trick of engineering was used to
augment the noise of the crowd. During the rehearsal the
crowd noises of one hundred and fifty participants were
recorded, to be reproduced during the actual performance
through loud speakers at each end of the Armory. Such a
device gave the effect of depth because of the lapse of a
fraction of a second between the recorded voices and the
actual voices of the shouting mob.

Dr. William Bacher (D.D.S., L.L.D., M.A) formerly prac-
ticing dentist of Bayonne, New Jersey, began his producing
career by accident. He attracted attention by his sharp
criticisms of programs produced and was given a chance to
do better. As the director of "Hollywood Hotel," he was a
continually erupting volcano of energy and temperament.
He occupied a low stand during a broadcast and directed
his players as a conductor leads a symphony. Such earnest-
ness stimulates the actor.

Bacher gestured frantically for sound effects, pleaded by
the movement of his hands for more emotion from the actors
during a dramatic scene, crouched, spun upright, and dis-
played an earnestness that would do justice to a Toscanini.
His discipline was exact so that when his clenched fists
struck the air the knocking by the sound-effects assistant was
exactly synchronized.

The practical work of a producer makes his radio fac-
totum. His duties are manifold.

1. He co-ordinates the actors and exercises executive con-
trol in the studio.

2. He makes changes and deletions in the script to fit and
discover fresh qualities in the text to meet time schedules.

3. He suggests microphone techniques and placements
best for each actor.

4. He balances music and sound effects to the best ad-
vantage.

Il6 RAPE OF RADIO

5. He cooperates with the control engineer during re-
hearsal over the monitor speaker in the control room.

6. He gives clues to the announcer, cast, sound man and
orchestra leader.

One has but to attend a rehearsal to catch the important
phases of direction. Such a picture is furnished by Martin
Gosch, Assistant Director of the Columbia Workshop. In
a personal interview with Alton Cook he confides: "In this
play it took much longer, with a blend of sound effects,
music and voices. We spent an hour and thirty-five minutes
for all the rest of the play, and out of that time had to come
a half hour for dress rehearsal."

Until dress rehearsal is over the director is never sure
whether the play is going to run the exact twenty-nine
minutes and forty-five seconds allotted. Radio permits no
deviation either way. The situation is handled (by Gosch)
in this way. "There have been times when, ten minutes
before broadcast, we had to cut two and a half minutes out
of the script, a few seconds from one scene, a half minute
from another, and so on, always being careful to cut around
the lines vital to the action."

MUSIC

GLOOMILY it was predicted ten years ago that the
broadcasting of jazz would corrupt the public taste
and that good music would be abolished from the earth.
Good music has an immortality and the electrical arts could
only perpetuate proving that it takes all kinds of minds and
all kinds of people to make a world. The truth is that
musicians have completely captured radio and stimulated
popular response to good music undreamed of in this
generation.

Samuel Chotzinoff pays acclaim to the popular school of
music. "I happen to know my Stravinsky, Berg, Sessions
et al and I know, also, Kern, Rodgers, Berlin, Gershwin, et
al and while it may be said with truth that they are sepa-
rated by a gulf, as I see it, that gulf is the void between
sterility and inspiration. It happens to be a caprice of nature
at the moment, that our serious composers are sterile, and
our Tin Pan Alley songsters fecund."

Elie Siegmeister, the music critic, wonders who is to
determine what is "good" and what is "bad" music, and
furthermore, the question arises, "good for what?" To some,
the music of Stravinsky (or Shostakovich or Schonberg or
Gershwin) is stimulating, vivid, challenging, "good," be-
cause it reflects the forces of contemporary life; to others
it is discordant, ugly and depressing.

The infiltration of music culture was hastened beyond
wildest dreams by the advent of phonograph and radio.
Through these devices millions of people were exposed to
symphonies for the first time. The trouble was that they were
supposed to take them and like them. Or else, to pretend.

117

Il8 RAPE OF RADIO

If a man expressed an honest preference for "Dinah" or
"Star Dust" and not for Tschaikowsky's Fifth, he was classi-
fied as hopelessly lowbrow. So two camps arose — the low-
brows and the highbrows.

There is no definite measuring scale by which to deter-
mine how many people want jazz music and how many
prefer the higher forms. But it is certain that there is a
vast audience for both types of music and the lover of the
symphony may turn to jazz for comfort depending on the
time, the mood and the variety of personal adjustment.

It was a source of immense satisfaction to the great musi-
cal critic, Lawrence Gilman, that within "the last decade or
so, the average man has discovered chiefly through the
agency of phonographs and radio broadcasts that the art of
music is not the province of a few incomprehensible special-
ists, but a vast and boundless continent of the mind, inex-
haustible in its richness for the spirit."

The masses were denied the music of the masters and
barred from participation in its beauties until radio sud-
denly swept away the barriers and admitted all the people
to the charmed circle. In the early days many artists were
afraid to broadcast. They were not sure that the microphone
would do justice to their tonalities. Today there are only a
few of the notable artists who have never broadcast. These
include Rachmaninoff and Kreisler. Radio broke down cer-
tain theories. First was that mass audiences were fatigued by
long pieces like symphonies. Today some of the broadcasts
which present great music unabridged are the most popular
programs. Second, the notion that unsophisticated listeners
disliked modern music. John Barbirelli, conductor of the
Philharmonic Symphony, said at a recent meeting of the
Contemporary Club of Philadelphia, "I am inclined to think
that prejudice against a certain musical idiom is occasioned
by having been brought up as a child on too restricted a
musical diet, and that the radio public knows its own tastes

MUSIC lig

very well merely because it has been allowed to sample
scores of all periods without undue emphasis on any one
century.

"The delight in sharing an artistic experience with hun-
dreds of thousands of other listeners who are present and
who applaud with you cannot be replaced by a private reac-
tion detached from a gregarious occasion." And this after
a study of twenty-five thousand letters received by the Phil-
harmonic in one year.

Arranging

The band leader, Al Goodman, calls this the "Age of
Arrangement," "We are living," says he, "in an arrangement
age, musically speaking, because people are no different to-
day than a generation ago in their love of melody. They
want melody and they want it so presented that they can
recognize it."

Arranging means taking the theme and making a musical
production of it — creating introductions and perhaps codes
and so on. Orchestrating means the making of orchestral
versions for a given tune.

Music of the older masters does not have to be adapted
for radio. There is no need for adaptation. The music is
well orchestrated and should be played as written.

Bandmasters are compelled to create new arrangements.
They must insert new harmony here, a new rhythm there,
shift the chorus from the trombone to the saxophone or
from the saxophone to the trumpet. The purpose of arrange-
ment is to get a "zip" to music that identifies it, whether
Dvorak or Schubert as a conductor. When a radio maestro
wants plenty of flash and feeling in his music, he tells his
men to play with more "Schmalz." The term is a by-word
among musicians. According to Benny Goodman it comes
from an ingenious old-time arranger, named Schmalz.

120 RAPE OF RADIO

Staff and independent arrangers are a vital adjunct to
every band leader. It is not unusual for a top band to pay
out one thousand dollars a week for special arrangements.
Paul Whiteman is lavish in this respect, employing a chief
arranger on a straight salary of five hundred dollars a week.
His total expenditures for arrangements over a period of
twenty years are said to amount to over a million dollars.

Arrangements are the order of the day. Al Goodman
asserts that arrangements are almost seventy-five per cent
responsible for the success of an orchestra. The arranger is
master of the art of counterpoint, and counterpoint, he
explains, consists of playing different melodies simul-
taneously on an orchestration or arrangement. ''Radio is
full of arrangers," said Goodman, "who write counterpoint
without ever having studied it. It's instinctive with them,
and they get some effects that your serious European
musicians envy."

Ferde Groffe was probably the first to make arrangements
for a jazz band. In 1925 he was working with a band in
San Francisco, and he attempted to revise the impromptu
style of the band into a fixed creation of his own. His efforts
have been termed "musical sauce a la Groffe."

Paul Whiteman, ushered in a kind of renaissance in
orchestrated jazz. In his orchestration, Whiteman attempts
to bridge the gap between hot jazz and serious music. "More
than any other man, Paul Whiteman is responsible for the
present method of orchestral playing of popular music,"
so says Ted H using. "Before his day, a broadcasting band
played melodies exactly as they were written. Whiteman
took jazz and dance music and made them symphonic, be-
sides putting in variations in rhythm. This development
kept on until all the best orchestras were playing in what
is now called "advance style" — that is, the melody oozes
out against very simple but intricate-sounding rhythms in
the accompaniment, and rhythm contrasts are used to supple-

MUSIC 121

ment the classical beauties of contrasts in key modulations,
and between major and minor."

Because of radio, grand opera is no longer the prerogative
of the wealthy intelligentsia. It takes its place in strict com-
petition for favor with the latest "torch" song. Opera was a
matter of social prestige. Humble people were scared away
and still are by one good look at the box-office prices. Radio
has done much to arouse interest in the opera. The pioneer
broadcast was made on January 10, 1910, when Caruso and
Emmy Destinn sang arias from "Cavalleria Rusticana" and
"Pagliacci," which were trapped and magnified by the dicto-
graph directly from the stage and borne on the Hertzian
waves. NBC broadcast Humperdinck's "Hansel and Gretel"
the first entire opera, from the stage of the Metropolitan on
April 30, 1931. Within ten years radio has established a na-
tion-wide familiarity with opera.

The networks paid the Met one hundred thousand dol-
lars a season for the privilege but it was worth more than
that in terms of prestige to the company, and the sponsors
like Lucky Strike and Listerine. Opera thus became estab-
lished in the listener's taste. In 1939, the Directors, faced
with a deficit, threatened to close down the performances
and sent out an SOS to the listeners for contributions.
Previously, the Directors of the New York Philharmonic
Society, threatened with financial destruction, made a simi-
lar SOS (Save Our Symphony) to the public which responded
with five hundred thousand dollars. The Met boxholders
who had been assessed annually four thousand five hundred
dollars announced that they would no longer contribute the
money and a million dollar fund became necessary. Listeners
contributed the sum of $326,936. It is estimated that ten mil-
lion persons listened to a single performance of "Lohengrin."

Music form depends on three things: (i) the advancement
of our musical understanding; (2) the quality of the music
we hear; (3) the excellence of the receiving set. With final

122 RAPE OF RADIO

judgment Hendrik van Loon says: "If you are musically ig-
norant and are content to listen to trash on a radio set that
gives imperfect reception, then get all the fun out of it you
can, but remember you are very much like an old myopic
gentleman trying to read a cheap paper by candlelight."

Sponsors of Music

Music today is said to be the by-product of advertising
agencies whose influence is considered a factor more dis-
couraging to the art than is any other. Benny Goodman
himself in an interview in the World Telegram decried the
trend. "Music," says the bandleader, "has become industrial-
ized by the sponsors, many of whom know nothing of music
which can be proved. I mean that they appraise a song from
their own viewpoint, forgetting that tunes played ten thou-
sand times on the air in two years, like 'Sylvia' and 'The
End of a Perfect Day' and 'Liebestraum' may indicate a
worn-out welcome rather than a tendency to listen."

A sponsor has often forbidden his bandmaster to play
good, tuneful harmonies of the great composers, especially
if the movement is slow. Benny Goodman once complained
that he was balked in his desire to play the slow movement
of a Mozart quintette, as a stunt, after his Carnegie Hall
swing session.

Pity the poor sponsor. In 1933, he tried the classics on the
people. Beethoven and Bach had a real trial when three
sponsors laid out huge sums for programs that vied with the
quality of the New York Philharmonic Symphony orchestra
The millennium seemed at hand. It seemed that radio wa?
making America a nation of music-lovers. Too good to be
true, or to last. In 1934 all of the three sponsors went back
to the dance bands and the light classics. And, as Alton Cook
observed, "every radio season since then brought an abund-
ance of good orchestras on sponsored programs, nearly all of

MUSIC 123

them with announcements written in symphonic talk and
playing music just a step above that which you get in a good
beer garden."

In the past great music was inaccessible to the public.
Radio programs and radio performances which are develop-
ing taste are gradually forcing sponsors to improve and yield
to all tastes. The sponsor will claim that he knows how to
manufacture and sell his products, but that it has become
his business to attract listeners to those things they prefer
as proved by experience. If necessary he will offer skimmed
milk instead of the heavy cream of music if the public taste
is such. It's cheaper in the long run.

The sponsor is the new patron of the Arts comparable to
kings and emperors of the middle ages. He oversteps his
mark often in his advertising talk but he brings great music
into the home and widens artistic appreciation of the best.
''Music is not a language unless it is played," said Deems
Taylor. "How many people can read music? To enjoy music
you must hear it. A symphony is limited in time — a sym-
phony concert must appeal to a large number of people.
To make place for new music you must leave out a piece of
old music and as a result a conductor examines a new piece
more critically than a curator of a museum ordering new
art work."

There is no question but that the sponsor has contributed
enormously to the diffusion of musical culture among wide
masses of people never reached by the concert. Yet, much
as they have done, their utility is seriously limited, and,
even negated by (i) the lack of any serious, systematic edu-
cational program to relate the music to the lives of the
people, and (2) the planless, crazy-quilt mixture of "class-
ical," "semi-classical" and "popular" music (often on the
same program) dictated by the commercial sponsor's philoso-
phy of "appealing to every taste." As a result, while much
fine music is played, it is often bogged down and lost in a

124 RAPE OF RADIO

morass of mediocrity and musical pap. Many of the best
programs of unusual and valuable music are presented at
hours when they cannot be heard by the majority of people
who work.

There was a day when the showmen of radio thought they
had to surrender the summer microphone to dance bands,
because they believed the listeners favored "music in a
lighter vein." But that theory has changed. The radio people
have discovered that warm weather does not necessarily
mean the public has put the love for good music away with
the furs and overcoats.

Music has always held first place in broadcasting because
it is the one act that has universal appeal. Radio music to-
day can mould the taste of tomorrow. The destiny of music
lies largely in the hands of the dictators of broadcasting.
Music has penetrated every section of the civilized and un-
civilized globe, because music expresses emotions which are
felt by the general run of people everywhere.

Music has an important place in the education of the
emotions. Aldous Huxley finds reason to believe that more
people are able to participate in the experience of the music-
maker than in that of the painter, the architect, or even the
imaginative writer. Music is an educational outlet, for wid-
ening the consciousness and imparting a flow of emotion, in
a desirable direction. " Music," says Huxley, "may be used
to teach a number of valuable lessons. When they listen to
a piece of good music, people of limited ability are given
the opportunity of actually experiencing thought-and-feeling
processes of a man of outstanding intellectual power and
exceptional insight. Finest works of art are precious, among
other reasons because they make it possible for us to know,
if only imperfectly, and for a little while, what it actually
feels like to think subtly and feel nobly."

The late Ernest Schelling once said: "Music is a habit."
A person can accustom himself to needing music or doing

MUSIC 125

without it. He can accustom himself to a taste for good or
bad; and since habits are mostly acquired in early youth
when the mind is elastic and impressionable, the best way
to lay the foundations for music in a nation is to induce
good musical habits in the children.

There was once a judge versed in radio lore who was
called upon to rule in a divorce suit partly growing out of
complaints by the husband that he preferred light music on
the radio and by the wife that she preferred opera. The hus-
band threw the radio set out of the window, smashing it.
The judge decided that they should buy two radio sets, to
be equipped with earphones so each might listen without
annoyance to the other. There is reason to believe that after
this judgment, the couple are living happily ever for radio.

Deems Taylor makes it known that musical education has
a long way to go in the recognition of new music. He quotes
the English critic, Newman, who says that music of every
period lacks melody when compared with the past. The
familiar is the accepted. Hence, Taylor's plea to the listener
not to reject the melodies of the new if they clash with the
understanding. "Listen again, if it annoys you or makes you
angry," he says; "or if it bores you. If a composer furnishes
enough personality to make you recognize new style, give
it a chance. Hear it again."

Musical democracy tolerates no snob. A snob is one who
by dictionary definition "makes birth or wealth or superior
position the sole criterion of worth." Those who insist that
the world listen to inferior music represent the same danger-
ous snobbery as those who insist on only the classics. Who is
it that knows the taste of the millions and dares to set
standards for them on the basis of a mediocre musical diet?

A "Back to the Masters" movement all began with a few
self-appointed radio prophets telling us our taste in music
was terrible and that we should go for symphonies and
operas. The cry was taken up by the public schools which

126 RAPE OF RADIO

began installing courses in ' 'music appreciation," purporting
to inculcate the student with a love for the old masters by
studying their lives and works. Colleges, the press, and radio
began to rally to the uplift cause.

Radio has its time limitations however, for opera broad-
casts. "Pagliacci" is ideal for radio, covering only one hour,
but "Parsifal" would require four and a half hours. Hence
the networks went scouting for creators of opera who could
keep the performance within time limits. Tabloid versions
of opera seem to be the vogue. If Shakespeare can be stream-
lined, so can Bizet. Carmen was telescoped to sixty minutes.
This is an opera which would consume some four hours or
more of stage time.

Erno Rapee, in 1938, conducted a festival of tabloid opera
for the Music Hall of the Air, taking care not to omit a
single aria duet or ensemble of musical significance.

Under commission from CBS, Vittoria Giannini wrote a
twenty-nine minute and thirty seconds opera entitled "Blen-
nerhasset," the libretto of which dealt with the escape of
Aaron Burr.

NBC commissioned Gian-Carlo Menotti to write an origi-
nal opera for radio. This was produced in 1939, under the
title "The Old Maid and the Thief." The performance in
fourteen scenes occupied one hour, and tells the escapades
of a young roustabout who imposes on an old maid who be-
friends him and he finally makes off with all her worldly
possessions.

Sponsor Conflict

The battle between the highbrow and the lowbrow in
musical taste continues. The lowbrow is ready at all times
to wield the cudgel against the artist and the sponsor, not
knowing where to place the blame. The lowbrow cries
out that the artist is prostituting his art when he condescends
to sing "Danny Deever" instead of "Lucia."

MUSIC 127

Marcia Davenport voicing the plaint of the highbrow be-
lieves that the artists do not sing their best on the radio
programs. They all sing what they are asked to sing. Most
of what they are asked to sing is tripe. Lawrence Tibbett
includes in his popular classical songs such ballads as "Old
Man River," "Annie Laurie" and "The Last Round-Up."
Reinald Werrenrath never allows his music to get beyond
the understanding of his audience. He clings to songs of a
popular nature such as "On the Road to Mandalay" and
sponsors who study audience interests see that the stand-bys
are included in the repertory of Rosa Ponselle, Nino Mar-
tini, and John Charles Thomas. Lawrence Tibbett takes
issue with those who take him to task for "wasting" his fine
voice on popular selections. When he feels he should sing
a simple melody for those of his listeners who do not appre-
ciate classical selections no one can change his mind. Simple
melodies require as much artistry as the arias of the opera.

Subjective reactions evidently tell us less about what is
"in the music" than about our own attitudes towards life and
towards music as a part of it. Undoubtedly when we attempt
to judge the nature of music and its place in the world solely
on the basis of subjective reactions, thrills, pleasure and pain,
we are led into endless contradictions.

Marcia Davenport complained of the lack of variety and
balance of sponsors' music programs. There is such a con-
gestion of "good" music over the week end and such a con-
centration of plugged jazz daily in the week, that you get a
surfeit of both things just when the choicest programs of each
type come. She suggests a Radio Utopia where somebody
with the best of musical judgment, commercial and enter-
tainment value would act as general arbitrator of time and
distribution over the air like the movie and baseball czar.
Miss Davenport forgets she is dealing with an art. Her plan
smacks of dictatorship over public taste.

Arthur Bodansky answered the question of "shall there

128 RAPE OF RADIO

be a musical dictator?" in no uncertain terms: "You cannot
build a musical nation from the top down. You cannot turn
out a handful of professionals and cry, 'People, these are
your leaders. Follow them and be musical!' It works the
other way about. When you can point to a nation of music-
ally interested citizens and say, 'These are your leaders!'
the professionals will take care of themselves."

Review Your Technique

f

The microphone is a mechanical electrical ear, and has
no sense of discrimination. It faithfully reproduces all the
sound that reaches it. The listener at an orchestra concert
can focus attention on musical sounds and exclude extrane-
ous noises such as sneezes, coughs, reverberations. Not so
with the microphone. It hears all and tells all. IT MUST BE
PLACED WHERE IT PICKS UP ONLY THE DESIRED
SOUNDS. The primary rule is to place it near the orchestra.
If it is placed near the orchestra, the next problem is: Does
it pick up the right amount of sound from each instrument?
Balance is the picking up of the right amount of sound from
each instrument.

The more desirable qualities of voice are those of richness,
flexibility, smoothness and mellowness. To achieve such
effects depends on the power and quality of the voice, the
acoustics of the studio, and the correct position before the
mike. Rules for the guidance of singers include:

1. Do not be subject to the temptation to huddle the
mike unless you are a crooner. Center up on the micro-
phone; stand twenty or thirty inches away.

2. Get the right mental attitude by assuming an easy
stance. An easy balance is secured by placing one foot ahead
of the other.

3. Move closer to, and farther away from the mike as

MUSIC 129

you graduate in voice volume. On high notes, move away,
on soft tones, come closer.

4. In group singing, as in quartette, best effects result
if each singer stands the same distance from the mike. If
one voice stands out too prominently when this is done, a
better balance is obtained by moving that voice farther from
the mike than the others. If one member of the quartette
sings a solo, it is important that this member move closer to
the microphone than the rest.

Lawrence Tibbett keeps the control men on their toes
every minute. He is likely to "blast," especially when sing-
ing such a selection as "Glory Road" which is full of danger-
ous peaks and ejaculations. Richard Crooks sings less turbu-
lent selections and therefore he is much more placid at the
microphone.

If the prima donna stands in one place when delivering
a bravura, the engineer's task is simple, but if she walks
around the stage and shifts from one mike to another, the
mixer gets busy. The microphone is kindest to the naturally
beautiful, smooth voice. The singer who knows how to ad-
just her own instrument need not fear the engineer.

On the air, crescendos built up with impressive effect by
the singer, must be doctored by the engineer else they will
be received by the ear as distorted sounds. As the voice in-
creases in volume, its dissonant harmonic content grows
in proportion, while at the same time the fundamental har-
monic content does not increase correspondingly. The aver-
age ear refines or mixes these two tones. The microphone
does no mixing but merely transmits what it hears. If the
listener were seated at the Opera House he would be un-
aware of any such distortion, but at the receiving end of the
radio the ear would tell him something is wrong.

For dramatic conquest of the audience, there is a decided
tendency among prima donnas to employ too much voice on

130 RAPE OF RADIO

the upper notes. Sopranos on the top tones, especially, force.
The singer must carefully watch his climaxes. He should
tone them down considerably lower than he would on the
concert stage. Otherwise the listener will be knocked over
by one of those blasts that mar even the best recitals.

Success on the concert stage does not necessarily mean
success on the radio. A voice may carry across the nation but
not be strong enough to reach the far end of a small audi-
torium. The man in the control room remains master of
volume and crescendo.

Musical Self Control

The fate of many a radio singer rests on the sensitive
fingers and ears of the engineer who manipulates the con-
trols. He is virtually the "conductor-engineer," who is able
to ruin the career of the prima donna or bring her to super-
human heights. The adjustment by the engineers of the rela-
tive amount of the different elements of the sound to be
transmitted is a matter far more subtle than it appears. It
taxes both the knowledge and the taste of all concerned.

Howard Traubman has given us a picture of "opera, front
and back" during broadcasts. At the Metropolitan Opera
House eight mikes are used, four of which are suspended
over the orchestra and four placed in the footlights, in pairs
about one quarter length of the stage rim from the sides.
Each pair of footlight mikes consists of a close perspective
and a long perspective mike; the close perspective picks up
tones from a singer standing by. The long perspective
catches the singing in the background. The overhead or-
chestra mikes are placed at two levels, one pair close to the
orchestra. Thin tones come in on the close perspective mikes,
crescendos and fortissimos on the long perspective mikes.
All of these eight mikes are connected with the control
board known as the "mixer" housed in one of the boxes on

MUSIC 131

the grand tier. From this box, the engineer can watch the
singers and the conductor.

An interpretative artist, Charles C. Gray, manipulates the
control at the Metropolitan. He has a sensitive ear, can
tune in on any or all the mikes, and create the blend of tone
which makes the listener glory in opera. He can make a
bleating soprano out of a Flagstadt by tuning in the closest
mike and stepping up the juice. He carries effects of balance,
quality, and dynamics, in the interplay of voice, chorus and
orchestra. At his side is his production man, Herbert Liver-
sidge, who reads the score some six bars ahead and keeps
the control man posted with hand signals on who or what
is coming, — a thumb-forefinger for female soloists, a single
raised finger for men, two for duets, all five for choruses, a
clenched fist for the whole works. The control man watches
the signals ready to take out squeals from coloraturas, dis-
tortion out of tenors and ear splits out of ensembles.

The man at the controls is the ear of millions. He should
be an artist in his own right. The man at the controls came
to the rescue of many a prima donna whose voice bogged
down in a series of florid passages. The three thousand of
the radio audience may suffer but the radio fan remains un-
aware of the difficulty. The mixer simply pulls up the orches-
tra and obscures the cracking voice. He could, of course, let
the singer do her worst, or make her worse than she really
is by increasing the power at that point where her voice be-
gins to crack.

In the case of duets, the male voice is best heard if it is
placed behind the soprano. If Lawrence Tibbett does not
take a position behind Lily Pons, his baritone would stand
out in greater prominence. The control man more easily
blends the tones and makes for more agreeable quality over
the speaker.

When a vocal ensemble sings as part of a radio orchestra,
the chief problem is "miking" in such a way that the mixing

132 RAPE OF RADIO

of voices with instrumental music doesn't become confusing
— in other words, so that they blend, yet at the same time
are separate and distinct. As a rule the whole arrangement
is made by one man, not by specialist assistants who work
from a general sketch. The style of arrangements changes
frequently and it is necessary for a radio orchestra to have
large music libraries.

"For a singer with a smooth voice, the engineer or con-
trol operator can make the voice sound on the radio just as he
bids," says the noted tenor, Richard Crooks. "He can make
the voice of little volume ring with the boom of a Caruso or
can muffle a voice of stupendous proportions. I have seen
the man at the controls put the pedal (soft) on Martinelli
to such an extent that he sounded like a lyric tenor."

Orchestra Set-up

The problem of picking up the right amount of sound
from each instrument is what the engineer refers to when
he talks about "balance." The loudness of any instrument
as picked up by the microphone depends upon three things:
(i) distance from the microphone; (2) its position relative
to the sensitive face of the microphone; (3) the loudness of
the instrument itself; (4) the directionality of the instru-
ment. The violin radiates tone equally in all directions.
The volume of a trumpet as it affects the ear depends upon
whether one is in front of it or behind the bell.

The first violins are at the extreme right and are easily
picked up because of their penetrating sound. Violas and
cellos are in the center and give a rich middle tone to broad-
cast music. The horns and woodwinds are favored next to
the stringed instruments. On the outer edge of the circle
are the horns, trumpets, and percussion.

The proper height of the microphone can be determined
by experimentation. For a small orchestra try it at a height

MUSIC 133

of five feet. For a larger one try it at a height of six to eight
feet. In a live studio, the microphone should be lower than
in a dead studio in order to cut down reverberation. When
there is much reverberation, the microphone should be
placed closer to the orchestra. The microphone is usually
placed between the orchestra leader and his musicians but
to one side.

Radio is guilty of sugar coating music and adopting fam-
ous symphonic melodies to song forms as did Sigmund Rom-
berg when he wrote "Song of Love," Franz Schubert's "Un-
finished Symphony." No crime, say the Modernists, to pre-
sent great melodies in simple form so that larger numbers
of people may enjoy them in dance and song. How was this
effected? Philip Kerby in the North American Review pays
tribute to radio. "First," he says, "simple melodies are played
which later are interpolated as themes from some of the
greatest symphonies. It suddenly becomes a game in the mind
of the youthful listener who acquires his three musical B's
— Bach, Beethoven and Brahms — with much greater ease
than the three R's. Desire to imitate sounds coming over the
air accounts for the child's sudden interest in picking out
the opening bars of the Chorale of Beethoven's Ninth on
the family piano . . . when wild horses could not have
dragged him to practice his five finger exercises."

This and other similar programs have undoubtedly had
a cumulative influence over the music appreciation habits
of the nation during the past decade. For certainly the atti-
tude of the public toward the standard classics has under-
gone a complete turn-around and the blatant jazz of 1920
is laughable today. Whatever you may think of swing, Benny
Goodman has brought to popular music a virtuosity on clar-
inet which many symphonic instrumentalists envy.

"Musical education," says John Erskine, "ought to reach
three classes. It ought to reach the highest talented artist,
the amateur who, according to the measure of his ability,

134 RAPE OF RADIO

will try to be an artist, but who will sing or play for fun,
and a still larger class of men and women, who, without
taking an active part in music, love it, and can listen to it
with intelligence."

Josef Hoffman will not play down to his public. Albert
Spalding and Stokowski have never departed from standards
of highest excellence in the selection of program numbers.

This alliance of the popular with the classic on popular
programs even went so far as to suggest an appearance of
Bing Crosby with Leopold Stokowski and the Philadelphia
Orchestra.

There is no guarantee of the consistency of an important
series of concerts. Program policy veers with the wind over
the seasons. Spring and summer may find it devoted to
classics, and then in fall instead of symphonic programs the
leader falls back upon ballet music, light songs, and hack-
neyed material.

Commercial programs or orchestral music such as Gen-
era Electric hour under Walter Damrosch occasionally in-
clude a single movement of a popular Symphony but chiefly
numbers like Rubenstein's "Melody in F," Massenet's "Ele-
gie," Handel's "Largo," Delibes' "Sylvia."

"Only gradually can ears become more and more capable
of perceiving and enjoying combinations of musical tones,"
said Walter Damrosch. This is the philosophy that moulded
the efforts of the director of NBC's Music Appreciation
Hour. Dr. Damrosch, through his musical series, has done
much to overcome indifference that marks the average atti-
tude toward music. It has been estimated that he reaches
more than six million listeners in schools alone. Children
have been enabled to learn the difference between clarinet,
flute, oboe, and trumpet.

Children, who at one time heard nothing but common
place songs indifferently played upon tinny pianos, have

MUSIC 135

now been introduced to the masters. The musical taste of
this country is rapidly developing to a demand that desires
the very best.

Children's Musical Taste

If parents would begin to acquaint their children with
the language of music at the same time and in the same way
that they are developing familiarity with actual language,
that is, by ear, the eventual work of the music-teacher
would become far simpler. It can be done either through
phonograph records and the careful selection of radio ma-
terial, or by personal performance on the part of the parents.
"Music," according to Gertrude Atherton, "rushes in where
intellect fears to tread."

Some of our broadcasters are beginning to discover a way
of simplifying the formal complexities of music in a highly
entertaining fashion. The trick is to take a well-known
melody and develop it with all the technique of a serious
composition. Since the tune is already familiar, the average
listener has little difficuty in following it through various
elaborations.

Sigmund Spaeth, the tune detective, has traced some of the
most popular music to the classics. The theme of Chopin's
"Fantasia Impromptu" was used as a tune for "I'm Always
Chasing Rainbows" which radio established as a vogue. "Yes,
We Have No Bananas" had its origin in the mighty "Halle-
lujah Chorus" of Handel's Messiah. Radio has made classic
tunes familiar thru the popular mold without the classical
tag. There are those who trace the improvisation of swing
to the time of Handel in the eighteenth century and call
modern "hot" selections merely dime novel interpretations.

Leading composers have long used syncopated rhythm.
Witness Debussy's "Golliwog's Cake-Walk." Stravinsky's
"Petrushka," Satie's ballet "Parade," the second movement
of Ravel's violin sonata.

136 RAPE OF RADIO

Hillbillies

The hillbilly seems to have taken permanent root in radio.
Hillbilly songs predominate on the air.

The term "hillbilly" in its purest sense refers to the poor
whites, who, by choice or necessity, till small farms in the
hill lands of North Carolina and other states. Economic
disadvantages keep them illiterate but they have a rustic
keenness of a sort and a philosophical outlook on life that
makes them an object of admiration to the thinkers.

Hillbilly music has come to be regarded as strictly Amer-
ican folk music. The range includes negro spirituals, moun-
tain songs, cowboy songs, lumber-camp jingles, adaptations
of popular songs and once-current hits, and paraphrases of
old English ballads. In the strictest sense the mountaineer
ballads are old English folk songs, some of them even trace-
abe to old Gregorian chants; and as such they are not strictly
American products.

Hillbilly songs cover the gamut of human emotions. They
tell of "Innocent Convicts," "Train Disasters," "Delightful
Murders," "Mother Love," "River Tragedies," "Misunder-
stood People," "Died-for-love People," "Charming Bandits,"
— in fact, every subject under the sun is covered.

Successful hillbilly singers sing in phrases, regardless of
the melody; and will stop to breathe whenever they darn
please, even though it means adding several more beats
to a measure. The average hillbilly singer sings by ear, plays
about three chords in a key, becomes "class" if he plays four
chords, and is a positive genius when he masters six chords.
He will invariably change a melody just so he can inject
some of his fancy chords.

Certain songs like "The Last Roundup" become hits be-
cause of sheer melody or novelty. "The Last Roundup" was
a haunting variation from the blue songs and the torch
songs of the period. Whether the words have more to do with

MUSIC 137

the song hit than the music, there is a question answered
with vigor on both sides. Some singers give the melody
everything and mumble the words. The hillbilly tune is
destined to remain with us. Radio has been enriched by a
wealth of songs.

In the Ozark region, without movies and without a radio,
the mountaineer finds a means of expression in the homely
melodies he plays. Most every cabin contains at least one
guitar, and on this instrument, which is as common as the
hoe or shovel, every member of a mountaineer family can
strum, easily carrying a tune in the minor key.

The Crooner Arrives

The appeal of the lullaby melody led to the development
of the crooner. The crooner generally has a flexible and
well-controlled voice. To accomplish those warm, resonant
and intimate vocalizations, the crooner sings across a micro-
phone a few inches away from his mouth. At such close
range every breath in-take, every pitch variation and the
very gasp of the singer permeates the room of the listener.
To cloud the sibilant sounds, a simple device is tried: The
crooner opens the mouth slightly wider than usual to pro-
duce the "s" sound and then sharply chops off the sibilant.
Singers of the blues, "torch songs," heat songs, and hillbilly
numbers often need generous amplification of their voices.
The control man is their best friend.

The word "crooner" has become a somewhat jocular term
to denote mournful or unpleasant noises. The injection of
this type of song into dance music was taken very seriously
by a large number of listeners. One dictionary defines
"crooning," as low, monotonous manner of singing. Another
emphasizes its "moaning sound, as of cattle in pain."

The best exponents of crooning are Rudy Vallee and
Bing Crosby. The secret of crooning lies in its intimate per-

138 RAPE OF RADIO

sonality singing. The untrained voice generally retains en-
dearing qualities. People react more sensitively to singers
who are trying to do their best and the very crudities of the
voice greet the listener with a surprising effect of sincerity.

Bing Crosby's voice personality might have been destroyed
by vocal training. From the technical standpoint his voice
is said to have remarkable range covering the tenor and
the baritone. His adaptability is surprising. He can shout
out volume in a fast swing number, croon a slow, senti-
mental tune, or render a Robeson spiritual "straight." The
word, "crooning," is inseparable in meaning from lullabies
hummed by negro mothers. Some psychologists believe that
crooning lavishes maternal instinct upon those who listen,
and that male listeners find female crooning has the effect of
a sedative in addition to its protective embrace. The haters
of crooning are the cerebrotonics who like their emotions
underdone. Many listeners are annoyed by sentimentality
that seems unworthy of the intellectual spirit.

Experts call attention to the subtoning used in crooning.
The simplest example of this technique is found in the
much maligned crooner who whispers into the microphone
so softly that nobody in the studio can hear him above the
orchestra, yet his voice is clear and strong to the listener
at the set. This same principle is employed in the use of
muted instruments. A heavily muted trombone, trumpet;
or clarinet, is brought up does to the mike, playing so
softly that even the conductor cannot hear it, yet on the air
its gentle tone predominates over the fortissimo of the ac-
companiment.

The crooner is in the same category as certain subtone
instruments that carry only ten feet without a microphone.
When sound vibrations are turned into electrical frequen-
cies, it is only a matter of amplification to change a sob into
a roar. "It isn't the crooners' voices that are bad," it was
once said apologetically, "it's their style. If only they'd stop

MUSIC 139

sobbing." Crooning gives the sound color. Color has been
defined by Harold Barlow, the conductor, as "the difference
between Lawrence Tibbett and Bing Crosby singing the
same note."

Blue songs must be added to the gay and frolicsome tunes
to lend that contrast which the ear craves. The doleful note
was struck by "Stormy Weather" and "The Last Roundup."
The maudlin ballad with its insistent repetitious note creeps
into the hearts of hosts of listeners.

American crooners refuse to identify themselves with the
word crooner. The British are more sensible and admit there
is such a thing as soft singing.

There are crooners and warblers of the "Bird Song" from
"Pagliacci"; heroic interpreters of "Home On the Range";
tender voicing of "Who is Sylvia?"; robusto roars of the
"Toreador Song." Musical literature is literally ransacked
for the melodies that can tickle the popular ear. The older
the song, the better. Ethel Waters was the first to achieve
stardom as a radio singer. Her voice crooning "Stormy
Weather," cleared away the clouds of heartbreak and disap-
pointment. Her powerful suggestibility in voice found echo
in the minds of many listeners. The vogue was continued
by Ella Fitzgerald, a negro vocalist of Chick Webb's Band,
who, having exhausted Stephen Foster, took to nursery
rhymes. Amongst her most popular renditions were, "A Tis-
ket, a Tasket," which clung to the senses like some breezy
perfume.

Maxine Sullivan, a colored girl, in 1939 conceived the idea
of singing "Loch Lomond," to swing time. Her rendition
was a colossal success and she established a vogue of swing-
ing Scotch ballads on every radio station in the land. She
got the idea as a waitress. When she cleaned up she would
sing softly in order not to attract attention.

There are isolated groups in all sections of the world pre-

140 RAPE OF RADIO

pared to fight to the death to prove that Maxine Sullivan,
from the Onyx Club, is a greater artist than Lily Pons.

Singing

Before 1912 the popular songs were simple, straightfor-
ward songs. Choruses linked the verses that told some sort
of human story, or episode. The thing called Ragtime sped
over the land about 1912. Its fever crossed the Atlantic to
England. Its rhythms were novel and audacious, jerky, stac-
cato. This was the era of "Alexander's Ragtime Band,"
"Everybody's Doing It," and "Hftchy Koo." Ragtime sur-
vived the war and developed into jazz. Jazz shot up the
thermometer and became hot, and hot music became swing.

Radio widened Tin Pan Alley into vast avenues of new
exploration. Tin Pan Alley proceeded to raise the roof from
orthodox forms and musical prejudice. Radio has had very
little effect on popular music in the last fifteen years. The
lyrics of popular songs tend toward more sophistication
than in 1920. There are still thirty-two bars to the chorus
of the average popular number. Ballads have swerved from
generalized philosophy to a particular philosophy. The torch
singers' plaint is now a tale of personal woe.

Love is a perennial theme. And as most motion pictures
are about love, most songs follow the theme. There is a
plentiful sprinkling of moons and hearts, and kisses, and
somebody's arms. The trouble is that America is turned into
a land of melancholy women whose love is unrequited; an
epidemic of Helen Morgan's wail in minor chords that they
"Can't Help Lovin' That Man." Libby Holman started a
mode with her "Moanin' Low" manner of singing "Body
and Soul" that ushered in the era of the torch singer.

Bing Crosby admits the torch songs are popular especially
with the youngsters. They serve as an outlet for the emotions
of boys and girls or for a love affair. "The kids," says he,

MUSIC 141

"going through a love affair can wreathe themselves into
songs about 'you and me' — they are really imagining them-
selves making love to the particular Somebody when they
sing 'I Surrender, Dear.' The era of depression brought
forth such songs as "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"
"Happy Days," and "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?"
which became popular because they reflected the state of
mind of the vast masses of the people. Humanity likes to
share its common experience with the key words and the
key melodies of its representative singer before the micro-
phone.

"The world tendency today," prophesied George Anthiel,
"is toward music that is simple, more melodic and tonal.
Songs must have something so simple and fundamental in
them that they never get out of the ear once they are in."
In this point of view he is seconded by that prolific writer of
hits, Irving Berlin, who says: "There will always be the last-
ing appeal of the straight popular song. Here, however, there
is nothing new either, at least lyrically. Only the words are
new, and the words of a song are all-important, for the
melodies linger on, but it is the words that give the song the
freshness and life. It is only once in a while that someone
comes along with a new tune; they all follow the same gen-
eral pattern, but the words are what really count." For radio
then, there is no formula for writing a song that will appeal,
—from jazz to sentimental ballads, to sophisticated musical
comedy compositions.

The microphone pounces on a new tune and within six
weeks exhausts it for the popular ear. Writers cannot hope
to satisfy the demand. Radio can never kill songs that have
a right to live, songs that have found a warm spot in the
heart. Such productions as "I've Got Rhythm," and "A
Japanese Sandman," remain endearing, though mellow
with age.

142 RAPE OF RADIO

Bands

The most active unit of radio is the dance band. Day and
night it is on the air to lull the country into contentment or
rouse it from its lethargy with the persistent drum beat or
whoops of saxophones.

Most of the band leaders owe their success to broadcasting.
Until the advent of radio their popularity was confined to
the areas of the honky-tonk dance hall. Today they have be-
come household gods from one end of the land to the other,
slowing up or quickening their tempo to satisfy an admiring
public.

Radio invariably demands a distinctive style of its favo-
rite bands. Guy Lombardo has throbbing saxophones;
Wayne King, sentimental, slow waltz tempo; Ray Noble,
"collegiate hot," Madriguera, tango music; Louis Prima is
"high priest of the trumpet"; Hal Kemp, the staccato type of
music, reminding you of the rhythmic clicking of railroad
wheels. The search for novel effects reaches far and wide.

Tom Dorsey specializes in "sweet" music, but his band
can swing into frenzied tempo to match the others. It is the
trombone of the leader that lends its mellifluosity to the
calmer and more sustained rhythms which characterize his
style.

Benny Goodman "Apostle of the Swing" continues to be
the most popular and highest-salaried exemplar of that art.
The Harlem rhythms are too intricate and too brutally
rhapsodic to attain a strong radio appeal.

Paul Whiteman made a drastic change in his orchestra in
1938, cutting out a portion of his string section and putting
in more saxophones and woodwinds to take care of the
swing. It is possible to make a saxophone laugh and play
and weep.

Lovers of soft music altho' passionately devoted to the
style, may, as a sort of concession, listen to the swingsters.

MUSIC 143

The jitterbugs, however, close their ears to the seductive
strains of the "schmaltzers."

For over ten years no bands have threatened the suprem-
acy of Guy Lombardo and Wayne King.

In the last decade, from 1927 to the present day, these
famous names musically affected the dance taste throughout
the country: Paul Whiteman, Rudy Vallee, Will Osborne,
Guy Lombardo, Bing Crosby, Russ Columbo, Wayne King,
Richard Himber, Duke Ellington, Cab Galloway, Shep
Fields, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey and Glen Gray.

In 1929, Rudy Vallee emerged as the radio idol. So did
Will Osborne. Both initiated "crooning" styles in song and
ushered in the "cheek to cheek" dancing trend. Guy Lom-
bardo's syncopated rhythms added sprightliness to the dance
step. In 1930 and 1931 Richard Himber, disciple of Rudy
Vallee, was the first to employ a harp in a dance orchestra.
He abolished announcement between musical numbers
played on the air.

The "rippling rhythm" of Shep Fields was hailed as a
newcomer in 1936. A staccato, pulsating rhythm, it is said
to have brought into being the "shag." Guy Lombardo em-
ployed the flute as an obligate against the trumpet.

The jazz craze lasted so long that it gave its name to an
age. It was the war and post-war age. Damon Runyon says:
"There was a period between jazz and swing when our na-
tional nuttiness simmered down to novelty bands and soft
symphonic dance music. It was the calm before the swing
storm and though the musicians tell you that swing is really
older than jazz, there is a newness to the violence of the cur-
rent craze that is more violent than any other similar craze
we have ever known."

Doctors of symphony are generally too optimistic in ap-
praising the power of radio over the musical tastes. In 1938,
it was the "June" and "moon" types that sold any number
of copies. "Chapel in the Moonlight" was at the head of the

144 RAPE OF RADIO

list, with four hundred thousand copies. Amongst the fifteen
best sellers was, "Moonlight and Shadows" and "Sailboat in
the Moonlight." The sure-fire ingredients of a popular song
seemed to be the moon and a boat. Not one song by such
sophisticated writers as Rogers and Hart, Jerome Kern
and Irving Berlin equalled in sales the corny ditties.

Band leaders have made significant attempts to make
serious music out of swing. Ferde Groffe's "Grand Canyon
Suite," achieved popularity some years ago. George Gersh-
win was child of the age of radio and mass entertainment.
He caught the spirit of America in his "Rhapsody in Blue,"
and made music fascinating to the masses because they could
understand it.

Hot jazz grew out of spirituals, blues, ragtime and work-
songs of the Southern negro. Geographically it appeared in
Memphis, Mobile and New Orleans where the Original
Dixieland Jazz Band was organized in 1900. Young white
men caught the spirit of jazz in Chicago. Bix Biederbecke,
master of the cornet and piano, became the evil genius of
the new medium. Benny Goodman at the age of thirteen was
an apostle at the feet of Louis Armstrong, one of the pio-
neers of the jazz movement. The Chicago style of hot jazz
is a style which has a contemporary feeling as exemplified
in Bix Biederbecke's "Davenport Blues."

Each artist excels in his own special way and appeals to
a following which worships his special technique. A debate
on the relative merits of Berlin and Beethoven is like a de-
bate on the relative merits of the apple and the pear. Each
is as you like it.

Tommy Dorsey once produced on the air a laboratory
demonstration of the history of the development of swing
in modern music. The program was aptly called "The Evo-
lution of Swing." Representative numbers illustrated the
life cycle.

The first period was one of crude improvisation. The

MUSIC 145

middle period found jazz going through the expert refining
processes of orchestration. Trained soloists began to flourish
as part of the entourage.

In this, our modern day, comes the return to the period
of free improvisation added to the background of well-
defined orchestration. The year 1900 found many orchestras,
white and colored, playing jazz. These were small bands of
the "dawn-age" of swing, great ragtime jazz orchestras like
the Original Creole Band and the Olympia Band. Every
man in these outfits played as the spirit moved him, and the
final effect was often a wild cacophony of violins, mandolins,
smaller wind instruments and percussion instruments. The
Dixieland Band organized in 1909 exercised an important
influence on the jazz impulse of modern music. It evolved
a highly individualistic style — the Dixieland style — which
is still employed. Their style is semi-harmonic.

Pass now to 1920. Paul Whiteman dominates the middle
age of jazz shortly after the World War. This is the period
of the refining influence when the raw materials of old-time
jazz, high degree of musicianship and orchestration become
evident. Whiteman turns to the symphony and transmutes
it into new rhythms which win applause from serious critics.

Now, 1930. A new outburst of spontaneity is contributed
by colored bands which resume their original leadership.
The solo technique is more reckless than that used by white
bandsmen. Stylisms identify a performance.

We are definitely in the age of swing. Swing is divided
into two classes: (i) 'le jazz grande,' which may be defined
as orchestral swing; (2) 'le jazz intime,' — swing music cre-
ated by a smaller group, free to improvise to their hearts
content, without being chained by manuscript.

Swing has been defined as "a manner of spontaneous im-
provisation around a given theme with a special regard for
rhythmic contrasts." This presupposes a simple basic melody
that appears often enough to have been established in mem-

146 RAPE OF RADIO

ory. Over this pattern of basic rhythm the players are per-
mitted to weave inventive interpretations that stand out in
melodic contrast.

"Ad lib playing," is Artie Shaw's description of the music
he or Benny Goodman play on their clarinets. "You may call
it swing, if you wish," says Shaw, "but what does it mean —
jazz and not swing."

Benny Goodman has let out some of the secrets of his
method in the Pictorial Review article entitled, "Jam Ses-
sion." He reveals that although most of the organization's
work is improvisation, he holds frequent rehearsals and
makes constant demands on his large library. He reveals:
"The pianist is playing a solo. He is giving out the melody.
I pick up my clarinet and play some figure on it which
shows the band the kind of background I would like. I may
then play a solo, while all the men accompany me in full
harmony. Then one of the trumpeters signals to me that he
is ready for a solo. I nod, and after a short interlude the
trumpeter plays his variation on the melody, while all of us
accompany him. So it goes until the possibilities of the tune
are exhausted — or the audience is."

Chamber Music

Music, one of the most stimulating of the arts, can also be-
come one of the most interesting and most fatiguing as evi-
denced by chamber music. Radio music is pretty well out
of the knee-pants stage and is giving concerts of chamber
music for those who can stand them. The taste for chamber
music is of the highest and most eclectic form of music ap-
preciation. The reason lies in the intellectual and deeply
serious quality of the string quartet as a musical form. When
the listener sits down to a festival of chamber music, it is not
so much entertainment for him as spiritual sustenance. And
oh, how he likes to be fed with the best!

MUSIC 147

There is a scarcity of radio broadcasts of chamber music.
No music presents a greater musical intimacy or a more
closely related expression of ideas. No other music outside
of unaccompanied religious chorals can attain the spiritual
eminence that chamber music offers.

A farsighted initiative in radio has been taken by the
NBC in establishing the Music Guild of Chamber Music.
In this ensemble playing the very nature of this type of
music is to reduce the element of vain virtuosity to a mini-
mum and to increase the element of team work which is
essential to an ensemble.

The Guild has given opportunity to comparatively little
known musical compositions. Such musicians keenly enjoy
the chance given them by invisibility and comparative isola-
tion,— to forget themselves.

Although there has been a recent heightening of interest
in choral music, radio has generally neglected this form.
The piano has come back into its own — two, four, and eight
hands provide sufficient novelty. George Gershwin showed
himself at his best before the piano. His "Jazz Concerto in
F," is something more than an abundance of notes laid on
with an over-generous hand.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR
BERTON BRALEY

Between the dark and the daylight,
There comes from each radio tower

A series of gentle broadcasts

That are known as the Children's Hour.

And the girls and boys are gathered

To listen with bated breath
To educational programs

Of murder and Sudden Death.

148 RAPE OF RADIO

Then the air is athrob with sirens,

As the ears of the Little Ones
Tune in to the soothing echoes

Of "gats" and of Tommy-guns.

And the eyes of the kids are popping,

As they listen and wait, perplexed
By the educational problems

Of who will be rubbed out next.

Grave Alice and Laughing Allegra,

And Harry and Dick and Tom
Hear music of sawed-off shotguns,

Accompanied by a bomb;

And quiver and shake and shiver

At the tender and pleasant quirks
Of a gang of affable yeggmen

Giving some "punk" the Works!

And they listen in awesome silence
To the talk of some mobster group.

As they're opening up a bank vault
With nitroglycerine "soup";

Oh, sweet is the noise of battle

To the children's listening ears,
As the guns of the detectives answer

The guns of the racketeers;

And these educational programs

Will make the youngsters cower,
And the night will be filled with nightmares

Induced by the Children's Hour!

Copyright, 1937, Pocket Book Pub. Corp., 420 Lexington Avenue.

LISTEN MY CHILDREN!

IN THE scheme of radio, children have been overlooked.
Poor and forgotten orphan of progress, the child is at last
coming into his birthright. Comprehensive studies are being
launched to find out what kind of entertainment he enjoys,
the number of hours he listens, and the effect of specific pro-
grams on manners and habits. The problem will always be
with radio as long as there is a sharp division between what
parents think about radio programs and what their children
think about them.

While children's radio programs have not yet reached
the stage of international discussion, many illuminating sur-
veys have been made in this country. Just as in the case of
the movies, it has been found futile to force children to feed
upon educationally and scientifically planned programs
which their elders believe would be good for them. Chil-
dren automatically practice selection in entertainment and
they know what they like and what they dislike. The judg-
ment of children stands out in sharp contrast to that of their
elders. Parents are put on the defense. Children glow about
programs which are condemned as harmful in the formative
years. Interests and the tastes of the parents, when fostered
on the children, create civil war in the household.

In recent surveys an attempt has been made to study the
following problems: (i) What shall be the type and choice
of programs? (2) How do their quality and character affect
the growing personality? (3) Do children's programs conflict
with the other activities of the child? (4) How shall mem-
bers of the family adjust themselves to the child's interest?

The type and choice of programs, if decided by the parent,

149

150 RAPE OF RADIO

arbitrarily stirs resentment. The motives for supervision
and restriction cannot be easily explained to a child who ex-
ults over his favorite program. Radio programs have a
superior interest to the exclusion of other interests and activ-
ities. The parent begins to view with alarm the fact that the
loud speaker has made a slave of the child. Family conversa-
tion is suddenly cut down. There is no time for reading,
group games, creative play. The child may even escape from
music practice and singing.

The Child's Study Association of America was a pioneer
in the attempt to secure thoughtful judgment on the sub-
ject. Its results were obtained through questionnaires submit-
ted to mothers all over the country. Some attempt was made
to calm down the hysterical grievances and to provide con-
structive analysis for ideal programs. In recent surveys the
mothers made definite conclusions that radio was an un-
qualified menace, made children nervous, developed fears,
and created a taste for sensational nonsense. More than a
quarter of those answering the questionnaire looked upon
radio as a family boon that prevented quarrels, and gave
children of varying ages enjoyment. Almost unanimously
the mothers concluded that radio interfered with other
activities, even bathing and taking meals.

Surveys indicate that forty out of a hundred tune in for
a half hour or more daily. Genuine and fairly sustained in-
terest begins at the age of six. A conservative estimate makes
twelve to thirteen out of a hundred confirmed radio fans.

The Director of The Child's Study of America, Mrs, Sido-
nie Matsner Gruenberg, is fair-minded in her judgment of
children's programs. "It is beyond dispute that many of the
programs are objectionable because they convey false or mis-
leading sentimentalities, or because they murder the king's
English or play too recklessly with elemental fears and
horrors."

Can't children be trained to exercise nice discriminations?

LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 151

When one program is rejected, to what substitute shall the
child glue his ears? Even if the child could obey the fiat of
his parent, radio might not have anything better to offer.
The child seems to be the neglected orphan of the radio.
The Women's National Radio Committee has entered the
line of battle on behalf of the child. It has set down a defi-
nite scale of judgment before it will lend the seal of approval
to a chidren's radio program. Consider these demands: (i)
Dignity of presentation; (2) freedom from objectionable
slang; (3) no talking down to children; (4) no stilted lan-
guage; (5) genuine informational material which stimu-
lates the mind; (6) freedom from too exciting incidents
which are likely to arouse a nervous reaction; (7) freedom
from objectionable advertising, box-top and premium offers.

It is agreed that there is something fundamental "beneath
the child's craving for exciting episodes, gangsterism, terri-
fying, unreal and impossible adventures, ghosts, blood and
thunder melodrama, sentimental love, and harrowing mys-
teries. Increased nervousness, fingernail biting, and general
discord were also blamed on this "blood-curdling bunk" by
parents who felt and hoped that it would soon be perma-
nently tuned out of young America's auditory reach.

One program of "The Shadow" had a demented doctor
draining blood from his patients so that he could sell it
at a neat profit. Nice sound effect on the children!

The parent may disapprove of these excitements: the psy-
chologist regards them as forms of vicarious adventure and
substitute experiences for which the child feels an inner
need. An analysis of the reason why The Women's National
Radio Committee rejects certain broadcasts as unfit indicates
that there is something rotten in the state of children's
radio. These sore spots might be summarized as follows:
Material too exciting to the nervous system; too much action
crowded into a fifteen minute period; speech of the charac-
ters unrefined, bad models, too rapid; abnormal situations

152 RAPE OF RADIO

beyond the range of children's activities; coinage of slang
phrases deliberately introduced; a condescension in the gen-
eral tone of the program that insults the intelligence of the
average child; a climax that carries over, leaving the child
in an over-excited state at the close of the broadcast.

Irene Wicker has consistently won honors as one of radio's
finest story tellers for children. Her art lies in her ability to
make entertaining what most radio performers make dull.
Her speech is mingled with songs of which she has composed
several hundred. No one can hold the air so long without
combing the field for interesting subject matter. The Singing
Lady's research has taken her into the realm of nursery
jingles; true stories based on historical facts; dramatizations
of fairy tales; imaginative journeys to the sun, the moon,
the stars; travel adventures of real children; true stories of
famous characters; stories about man, and dogs that point
out their devotion one to the other.

The secret of Miss Wicker's success lies in her personality.
She has the gift of a born story-teller. She seeks to capture
the child's heart. Above all, it is the voice and song that carry
sympathy, sincerity, warmth. Her power comes from an en-
thusiasm which children feel. Her words come as eagerly as
a child's.

In the early days of the radio flocks of uncles, aunts, sand-
men, big brothers and sisters took possession of the micro-
phone to tell fairy tales and bedtime stories. Most of these
programs were amateur mold. Radio soon discovered a more
violent approach through blood and thunder sketches, ad-
venture tales, and serial yarns that made the heart leap.

In London uncles made their early appearance. Uncle Jeff
would sit down at the piano and reel off tune after tune,
while many of them invented out of their own heads as
they rattled along the keys. Uncle Rex would join in with
songs, and Uncle Caractacus told stories of his own devis-

LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 153

ing. The three uncles were very shortly joined by Miss Cecil
Dixon who became known as Aunt Sophie.

Uncle Don is regarded as the Dean of children's pro-
grams. He began broadcasting in 1927 and is still on the air.
He estimates that he has broadcast some five thousand pro-
grams. His manner is quite the antithesis of The Singing
Lady. His formula is generally that of a Director of a club
which the radio listeners may join. His hearty laugh is syn-
thetic which is a polite word for "phoney."

Captain Tim Healy who appeared over NBC, spun fas-
cinating spy yarns which attracted the imagination of the
youth. By means of his radio club he enrolled over three
million boys and girls in his Radio Stamp club. He told the
story "behind the stamp." His voice was fresh and hearty.
His gusto impressed boys as well as girls that he was a he-
man. "Youngsters resent being talked down to," he ex-
plained. "They are dead set against announcers overdoing
their sales talk. They dismiss extravagant statements with a
terse, 'just a lot of hooey'."

The clamor for better children's programs has at last
aroused the broadcasters. They could not afford to ignore
the organized appeal from all parents' organizations. The
net-works undertook experiments to derive a more happy
formula for children's programs. Both NBC and CBS offered
prizes in a national competition for the best children's
script.

The public realized that children's programs, if left to
the haphazard plan of sponsors, cannot hope for sudden im-
provement. It is vicious in principle to impress children
with an obligation to buy merchandise in order to keep alive
a program they enjoy.

Opposition forces have already resulted in the formation
of committees to evaluate programs, to engage in research,
carry on psychological studies, and to present the experi-
mental programs. It is recognized that the problem of chil-

154 RAPE OF RADIO

dren's programs is interlinked with our social life, making
the closest co-operation necessary. A joint committee formed
in 1933 is a forerunner of this new approach which takes
the parenthood of America into consultation. This body con-
sists of representatives of the American Library Associa-
tion, Progressive Education Association, and The Child
Study Association of America. Its first aim is to crystallize
public interest, in the recommendations of parents' groups,
educational boards, civic institutions, and other organiza-
tions concerned in the welfare of the child.

There will be a tough time ahead, trying to educate the
sponsor by way of the advertising manager. Broadcasting
companies are more amenable and cannot ignore the de-
mand for experimental programs that represent the best
thought of the educator.

Sponsor programs for children in which children perform
at best offer poor models for the youth to emulate. The
Horn & Hardhart Sunday Morning Hour is just such a slap-
happy medley of kid specialties in which children evidently
can do nothing more than indulge in taps, accordion and sax
specialties and ape the sexy torch songs of their elders. People
write in, vote for the child whose performance they liked
best. The next week that child gets the cake.

The Question Bee conducted for CBS by Nila Mack is a
model of propriety. Children make up the audience. Milton
J. Cross performs in the role of em cee for a kiddie program
entitled "Raising Your Parents," and displays his native gift
for bringing out the best in children. Here he considers with
the youngsters such problems as inferiority complexes, over-
active imaginations, comic strips, co-operation with brothers
and sisters in the same household. What a wise papa to take
these problems off mother's hands!

One of the oldest children's programs is Madge Tucker's
"Coast to Coast on a Bus," directed for NBC since 1924 and
still running strong. The peculiar charm of "The Lady Next

LISTEN MY CHILDREN 1 155

Door," as she is called makes Miss Tucker an actress in the
roles she originates, writes, and directs for the juvenile artists
she has on her roster.

Irving Caesar, the song writer introduces a new note in
his Songs of Safety, written in the ballad idiom of children.
He has done altruistic work in this field.

In July 1940 was inaugurated over NBC a "Quizz Kids"
program in the manner of "Information Please" in which
the experts are children from five to fifteen, vying for Alka
Seltzer's prize of one hundred dollars worth of U. S. Bonds.
The trio of youthful experts attracted the attention of the
nation, spelling "heterogeneous," "bourgeois," and "antima-
cassar" with definitions and identifying, "hog butcher to the
world," and recounting in full the myth of Arachne. Normal
kids exciting the admiration of man, woman and child.
And do children love it!

Experiments to determine whether or not young school
children enjoy music that has an educational value were con-
ducted sometime ago at the Lincoln School, Columbia Uni-
versity, by members of the Junior Program Department
of the National Music League. Music educators met for a
round-table discussion after the concert and agreed that
children have an "innate ability" to appreciate the finest
in music, but must be educated to it gradually. The charge
is made that this "innate ability" is neglected by the
neutrals.

Leonard Liebling, the distinguished editor of the "Musical
Courier" is of the opinion that "Some of the major sym-
phony orchestras give special broadcasts for children, but
such concerts are few and far between. As the music-lovers
of the future are the youngsters of today, it would seem
that more attention should be paid to their tonal education.

"There is, of course, the Damrosch course, but it comes
during school hours and figures as education rather than en-
joyment. The period between five and seven o'clock usually

156 RAPE OF RADIO

finds children at home, when they are furnished with one or
two exceptions chiefly with mystery and other thriller pro-
grams, silly serials, trashy songs that are discounted by even
infantile intelligence, and in fact with nearly everything ex-
cept the best music."

And Now the Drama

Sufficient study has not been given to children's plays as
an educational medium for radio. A great many failures of
children's theaters of the air have been based on the false
notion of the mentality of their audience. The plays have
wavered between two extremes of the fairy-like type, and
the attempt to make sermons of what should be pure enter-
tainment which the child resents. Programs should be of
interest to boys and girls between the ages of four and
sixteen. No one can cover the age span of such an audience,
but a varied program could have mass appeal. The plays
may have an adult cast, a juvenile cast, or a mixed cast. The
one hundred and twenty-seven theaters of the Jnnior
Leagues can well give thought to radio as a medium for
their expression.

What to Do

Angelo Patri, the educator, advises parents to share the
radio with children: "Listen with them. Don't impose
grown-up's programs on children under twelve years of age
because they do not understand them. Turn off the pro-
grams which seem to harm the children and write to the
sponsors immediately. Don't expect the Government to do
for you what you can do with a movement of the finger, a
note with a stamp."

It has been established by many studies that children
can be trained to exercise nicer discriminations, and that
the way to this end is not by direct fiat of the parent whose

LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 157

tastes are mature. The fault lies with the sorry alternatives
that children's programs at present offer.

An eight-point formula was presented for children's pro-
grams at a meeting of the Radio Council on Children's
Programs and the representatives of the NAB in 1940. It
provided that children's programs be entertaining, dramatic
with reasonable suspense, possess high artistic quality and
integrity, express correct English and diction, appeal to the
child's sense of humor, and be within the scope of the child's
imagination, as well as stress human relations for coopera-
tive living and intercultural understanding and apprecia-
tion. Some task!

The Council was formed to bring about better children's
programs, and is composed of the representatives of five of
the largest women's organizations in the country with head-
quarters at 45 Rockefeller Plaza, New York.

Upon whom does the responsibility for children's pro-
grams rest — parent, broadcaster or sponsor? There has been
a good deal of passing the buck. The Ladies Home Journal
reports that a majority of the women of America believe
that "It's up to the radio stations, not to the parents to
protect children from programs that are too exciting or
overstimulating." With radio so accessible to children out-
side as well as inside homes, mothers find it impossible to
supervise children's habits.

Responsibility rests with the networks and the managers
of local stations. The FCC should exercise a measure of
control through its power to refuse to renew the broadcast-
ing license. Best of all is the crystallized public opinion that
affects the public interest.

Carrie Lillie who directs WMCA'S juvenile programs
claims that children have been brought up on blood and
thunder tales for centuries, and points out the horrors con-
tained in nursery rhymes about horrible giants, persecuted
princesses, the unfortunate wives of Bluebeard, without any

158 RAPE OF RADIO

particular ill-effects. She opines that the young American
listener could not be thrilled by any milder variety after
an acquaintance with America's own system of gangsters,
kidknapping and lynching. If the children had the power
to know the right from the wrong, this might be all right.

A new type of fairy tale is being evolved in the United
States, in which the characters jump in rocket ships from
planet to planet, use death rays and other creations of super
science, says Clemence Dane, the English writer. Buck
Rogers makes it possible to be projected into the twenty-
fifth century to the planet Jupiter.

Always "The Lone Ranger" is the hero of mystery ad-
venture. He follows the ranchers, villains, outlaws, spies and
dynamiters across the prairies and into secret caves.
Parents approve the program because there is no boy in
trouble, left tied up by the cannibals. (The boy projects him-
self into the role of hero arid cannot sleep.) "The Lone
Ranger" is on the side of the right and never fails to help
the underdog. Few programs have had the success of "The
Lone Ranger." Nightly he rides the kilocycles hurrying
toward virtue and trampling crime and criminals under
hoof.

Shirley Temple has admitted that "The Lone Ranger"
is her favorite program and Mrs. Roosevelt, wife of the
President, wrote in her column: "The other evening I
offered to read aloud to Buzz until bedtime, but there is a
program on the air called 'The Lone Ranger,' which seems
to be entirely satisfactory." But to whom, Mrs. Roosevelt
did not say.

Remember that adults take to the juvenile stuff. "The
Lone Ranger" started as a show for the youngsters, but the
grown-ups are probably just as ardent listeners. The wide
appeal of "The Lone Ranger" for children is not a matter
of guesswork. Before a program is taken to the studio, Fran
Striker, the author tries it out on his two sons, eight and six.

LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 159

"Superman" comes on the air with a shrill, shrieking
edict (the combination of a high wind and a bomb whine
recorded during the Spanish war. Voices hail him: "Up in
the sky— look! It's a bird. . . . It's a plane. . . . It's
SUPERMAN!" Mothers have their eye on him. His occa-
sional rocket and space jaunts are too improbable for the
Child Study Association of America. Superman has a sound
effect about every four lines.

The new Dick Tracy program went on the air endorsed
by the Clergy League of America. The Minneapolis College
Women's Club, a branch of the American Association of
University Women, went so far as to petition "those people
responsible for the production of the radio skit called
'Orphan Annie,' praying that the sponsor remove objection-
able features in the overdrawn dramatic crime episodes, the
raucous, unnatural voices of the actors, and the coarse
vocabulary, or better still to substitute therefore programs
to stimulate the children's imagination in the right direc-
tion." An identical petition was drawn up concerning the
"Skippy" program. The sponsors turned a deaf ear to these
petitions and the programs went gruesomely on.

Educational Solutions

Kurt London, in his highly revealing analysis of radio
in the USSR, makes the claim that the quality of children's
programs in Russia is very high: in fact, it is relatively
higher than the "wireless for adults."

The guiding principle of children's programs is the influ-
ence on education by artistic means. Programs are varied
to measure up to the appropriate stages of childhood. The
first group includes children from five to eight years of age.
Imagine synthetic pieces composed of dramas, readings and
noises especially made for such youngsters. Take a typical

l6o RAPE OF RADIO

program by which natural science is taught in a naturally
amusing way, by the use of animal stories, or in dramatic
sequences.

Single themes such as the ''Adventures of a Potato," per-
mit the child to catch a revelation of the natural world. The
second group of programs is meant for children from eight
to eleven years of age. Each program lasts about twenty to
forty minutes and covers a wide variety: reading from books,
children's operas lasting about twenty-five minutes, dealing
with the life and experiences of the young. The third group
is designed for children between the ages of twelve and
fifteen. Here the field is widened. The radio authorities
collaborate with the children's section of a composers' asso-
ciation. The best composers create special music for chil-
dren. Broadcast by the literary and dramatic departments
they offer specially dramatized versions of such works as
Dickens' "Pickwick Papers," and Longfellow's "Hiawatha"
interspersed with music. True, the programs are not free of
the idealism of a Soviet scheme. The life of the pioneers is
vividly portrayed in fifteen broadcasts every month. And
the children themselves are drawn upon as participants.
They sing songs before the microphone and give readings.

The growing generation of Soviet youth is thus favored
with programs whose influence is artistic and cultural, and
even though sugared with propaganda at least represents a
distinctive appreciation of the needs of youth.

In 1937 "Wilderness Road" won the award of the
Women's National Radio Committee as a model children's
program. It was regarded as an ideal dramatic serial but
remained unsponsored. The work of Richard Stevenson and
Charles Tazwell, it was a serial that had its locale along the
old "Wilderness Road" formerly known as Boone's Trail.
The serial followed the life of the Weston family — father,
mother, three sons and a daughter, negro servant, a carrier
who brings mail and news from the outside, and Daniel

LISTEN MY CHILDREN! 161

Boone, friend and protector. The thousand first-prize serial
of NBC was entitled "The Bravest of the Brave," selected as
the most outstanding of seven hundred and forty scripts in
1937. The action revolves itself around the valiant acts of
men and women. With Daniel Boone as the protagonist not
a single Indian hit the dust. The only Indian hurt slipped
on a log.

It is difficult to find the common denominator of chil-
dren's interests. An exciting thriller which plunges one boy
to the verge of hysterics will create, in another youngster,
visions of power and success. Program reactions therefore
are of a strong individual nature.

Children do not think much of children's radio programs.
The youthful listener is seldom interested in specially pre-
pared programs for children.

Sigmund Spaeth, the music critic, finds that the natural
inclinations of children run towards fairly obvious music.
The survey conducted by Azrial Izenberg questioning
3,445,000 children in New York City schools reveals that as
for music learned over the air eighty-five per cent of the
children learned dance songs; seven per cent picked up cow-
boy melodies; three per cent theme melodies; three per cent
general melodies; and only two per cent classical and semi-
classical music.

A recent survey was conducted by the Chidren's Aid
Society of New York among the ten thousand members of
its juvenile clubs in seven centers. The survey was made
among boys and girls between the ages of eleven and sixteen
years. Ninety-two per cent of the boys and eighty per cent
of the girls gave the adult programs as their first choice.
Of the children's programs the youngsters picked the
thrillers. And if it is feared young America has no sense of
humor, it should be recorded that of the adult programs
Eddie Cantor topped the list, followed by Burns and Allen,
Jack Benny and Dick Powell.

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF
THE AMATEUR HOUR

r I ^HE Amateur Hour has its root deep in human psychol-
^£_ ogy. It captured the imagination of youth, stirred the
vanity of countless microphonic aspirants long past youth.
For a time it commanded the largest radio audience. Why?
Because it gratified man's sadistic sense for the incompetent,
self-deceived, self-punishment meted to artists. It inflated
the hopes of an army of crooners, tap dancers, one-man
bands, whistlers and musical eccentrics of every variety.

Major Bowes was a real estate operator in San Francisco
at first interested in a small chain of theaters. He soon
became a producer of plays. In 1918, he built the Capitol
Theatre in New York, at that time the world's largest
motion pitcure theater, of which he became director.
Appreciating the power of radio publicity, the Major
planned the Capitol Family broadcasts, which commenced
on November 19, 1922, with the late S. L. ("Roxy") Rothafel
as its master of ceremonies. Major Bowes, himself, took over
these duties on the radio on July 25, 1925. After his entry
into radio, the Major continued his directorship of the
Capitol Theatre and became vice-president of the Metro-
Goldwyn-Mayer pictures. As part of his duties for MGM,
he was director of their local station, WHN, and when an
amateur hour was started, Major Bowes undertook direction.

The idea took some time to catch on before it reached
the networks. It has its prototype in the amateur hour of
the vaudeville theater where audiences could view their
brassy judgment by crying out "Get the Hook." With the
assistance of Perry Charles, Bowes hit upon the idea of

162

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 163

subjecting the amateur performer to a razzing that would
send the audience into peals of laughter. Whenever a bad
amateur spoiled the show, Perry was inspired to use the
same device heard at the ringside, — the gong. Major Bowes
invested the proceedings with the qualities which at the end
of a year made it the dominant program in the New York
area. A local station, one-fiftieth as powerful as the com-
peting network station in Greater New York, commanded
an audience estimated at 80 per cent of the listeners in the
metropolitan district.

Let us look to the elements that made the Amateur Hour
of Major Bowes rise in the enviable scale of listener-interest.
In 1935, the Chase and Sanborn Company angled for the
program as a radio feature to be aired over the networks.
They looked to Major Bowes, who resigned the management
of WHN and took his Amateur Hour to the portals of NBC
on an offer of five thousand dollars weekly. Thus, Major
Bowes' Amateur Hour was ushered into national promi-
nence along with the insistent plea that the purchase of
Chase and Sanborn's dated coffee made good Samaritans
out of the purchasers because the program held out the
helping hand to native American talent.

The rest is history. Major Bowes' Amateur Hour rose to
stellar heights as Number One program of the air, a shining
example which brought into being hundreds of lesser lights.
It began the stampede of youth from every corner of the
land into the citadels of NBC, where once admitted, they
waited in a long narrow corridor, the chance for the micro-
phone audition which would decide their fate. Under the
aegis of the Bowes banner this broadcast leaped into na-
tional fame. Late in 1936 Chrysler took over the sponsorship
and the broadcasts were moved to the CBS radio theater.

The dignified and pompous old Major reached his high
peak in 1937 when radio surveys indicated that about 40
per cent of the nation's radio sets were tuned in on his

164 RAPE OF RADIO

programs each week. From that time on, his Crosley rating
began to dwindle down to about half, and yet remained
high enough to belie the prediction that the amateur pro-
gram would sniffle out.

Network broadcasts of Major Bowes' Amateur Hour began
in 1935. Up to the middle of October, 1937, the listeners
made over two and a half million telephone calls in voting,
according to statistics compiled by the American Telephone
& Telegraph Company. Tampa, Florida, delivered the
largest voters to any one amateur. Listeners in that city cast
45,273 votes for a local boy singer. In New York more
than one hundred and fifty telephone operators are busy
recording the votes during the hour. The American public
is afforded the right to vote for the best performers by tele-
phone, and a special key city is honored by having a local
telephone number put on a trunk line leading direct to
the NBC studio in New York.

The sponsor works in his exploitation and advertising.
The three or four top performers at every weekly broadcast
were employed to tour the country from Maine to Cali-
fornia. These vaudeville units were known as "Major Bowes
Amateur Hour." The minimum pay was fifty dollars per
week and transportation; the maximum pay, one hundred
and fifty dollars. Variety estimated that Major Bowes cleared
for himself and his personal organization over a million
dollars out of these units in 1935.

When a city is selected to be the honor city, a representa-
tive of the sponsor's advertising agency contacts the local
exchange in advance and makes the arrangements. The
honor cities are selected by the sponsor's advertising depart-
ment each week. It is usually done according to popula-
tion. One exception has been made to this rule. New York
has never been on it. The city selected is linked by direct
telephone long distance wire to the switchboard under the
stage of the Columbia Playhouse in New York where the

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 165

votes are tabulated and sent up to the Major for announce-
ment.

There were more than two hundred other amateur hours
scattered over the country, but none directed by such a
genius of voice as that of Major Bowes. When the Major
transferred the Amateur Hour from WHN to the networks
an amateur hour was retained at the local station. It was
necessary to find a substitute. Even with Major Bowes at
his side Norman Brokenshire was quite inadequate in voice
and spirit to be a Master of Ceremonies in such a program.

The Major starts with the right premise — an appeal to
sympathy. Variety intimated that his agents scanned local
amateur talent for the value of their sob story build up even
before they were auditioned for their specialty. The dialogue
is thus consistently written to bring out the peculiar talent
in voice that drips with sympathetic timbre and is enriched
by fatherly resonance. He chats with an informal ease. He
shows an extraordinary precision. He knows all about the
music-masters, the population of Katonah, the great in his-
tory and story.

Major Bowes, in defense of his program, speaks of "this
new and higher-type of serious amateur added to the steady
stream of self-taught and underprivileged amateurs." His
point of view is that of the showman who seeks to give
improved balance to the program, rather than from the
altruistic standpoint of one nurturing real talent.

Michael J. Porter, former aircaster for the American,
said: "For every one of the scant two dozen amateurs who set
foot on the road to glory, hundreds have turned their weary
steps homeward or to the breadlines or to the Travelers
Aid. Practically all of them took the cure. The amateurs
seem to have made the astonishing discovery that there was
practically nothing to write home about even after the
impresarios supplied the stamps."

There were dark rumors that many of the contestants

l66 RAPE OF RADIO

were actually professional actors, singers, instrumentalists
who appeared under the guise of amateurs for less money
than they would receive for professional work.

A statistician figured that the chance of acceptance on the
Hour is one in seventy thousand, and at the end of it all
lay the only certainty of a five dollar bill and one perform-
ance. The Literary Digest estimated that the chances that
any amateur performer would click professionally as a
national find was two hundred thousand to three.

The abnormal influx of amateurs into the City of New
York taxed the relief authorities and made it necessary for
the Major to restrict the applicants.

It is a kindly voice that greets the amateur. The speech
pattern is that of a loving uncle whose solicitude is enlivened
by a chuckle. The voice kept under restraint warms the
heart of the amateur with the glow of newly discovered
sympathy. But alas! the gong of the Major often strikes
chords of despair. Major Bowes has achieved a manner that
to the uninitiated sounds informal. To the practiced ear,
his folksy and ingratiating approach is synthetic. It is all
part of the show business to sound humanly interested in
your charges.

In thirty seconds, avuncular and bland inflections estab-
lish a relationship between the performer and the listening
audience. This is indeed an art in itself. Listeners receive
the impression that it is an unrehearsed program. Amateurs
have glib answers, and the repartee appears deftly dove-
tailed. However, these programs represent most careful
showmanship and preparation. The amateur never reads his
lines, and the Major sits behind a table with a box-like
edge which effectively hides his cards and memoranda from
the visible audience

New technique covers up the sadism by a sentence or
two of kind-hearted encouragement after getting a laugh by

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 167

kindly ridicule. "What are you going to sing?" asks Major
Bowes. "It's a sin to tell a lie in A flat," is the reply.

A slender girl reveals that she is a prize-fighter by profes-
sion— forty-seven knockouts to her credit. And she adds, "I
weigh a hundred and thirty stripped." "I'll take your word
for it," says the Major graciously.

There are many variations of the amateur hour. The
recent trend sought the dramatization of authentic and ex-
citing adventures of everyday people. Their best form was
the command appearance program of Kate Smith, who
combed the agencies of the land to discover men and women
who had performed heroic deeds and had not received
public recognition. Thus, she dramatized the heroism of
one, Martin Wolgamuth of West Orange, a bus driver who
risked his life to save his passengers from a mad dog. The
program would stand by itself as a piece of dramatization,
but when Kate Smith hands the hero or heroine five
hundred dollars a touch of humanity is added.

The Metropolitan Opera House found a rich field in the
auditions of amateurs. Sponsored by Sherwin-Williams
Paint, many candidates found a means of being heard. In
1938, these auditions began and have continued ever since.
The Metropolitan is genuinely or half-interested in the
affair. Meanwhile the amateur singer keeps knocking at the
door of opporunity.

The great success of the Amateur Hour has been a
puzzling phenomenon to the English. It was initiated over
the British system, but did not survive long.

The Outlet for Talent

The larger stations readily receive for airing such pro-
grams as are prepared by quasi-public or endowed institu-
tions. It is part of the public service the broadcasters are
presumed to offer as a condition of their franchise. Since

l68 RAPE OF RADIO

these programs carry an endorsement of the institution, the
performers generally are types selected by the faculties of
music, drama, and the allied arts of composition.

In similar fashion, the Radio Arts Guild of each com-
munity could serve as an examining committee, for the
amateurs without formal training in schools or academies.
The local stations which air these programs can have faith
that definite standards have been followed in their selection.
The promise of lucrative contracts should never be held out
alluringly to the amateur. Talent has a way of rising to the
surface, and in the same way that Hollywood has its agents
scouting for talent, so the extraordinary choice in separate
individual communities might be heralded by appearances
over the networks.

Such a system requires altruism on the part of broad-
casters. The broadcasters cannot afford to resent the sug-
gestions of Radio Arts Guilds as obtrusive. Public sentiment
once organized has a potent way of making itself known to
the commercial broadcasters who are on tip-toe to please
their public.

The listening public, through its organized committees,
might meet in convention at least once yearly in Washing-
ton, D. C. A Central Listeners' Bureau might be set up in
the National capital functioning through the local bureaus.
The rights and privileges of the amateur might well be an
important agenda in its discussions.

Better yet, if the Central Listeners' Bureau could acquire
the license and funds for maintenance of a model broadcast-
ing station, it could indulge in experiments to its heart's
content, blazing a trail for the commercial broadcaster to
follow.

Directing the Amateur Show

There is a trick in showmanship in running an amateur
show. Much depends on the director. The director must

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR l6g

know how to spot and spread his acts over the bill so that the
hour is consistently diversified.

Jay Flippen entered into the breach as em cee with an
appropriate stir of low-boisterous comedy. This was the
traditional atmosphere of all amateur shows. Any attempt
to make it genteel robbed the show of its caste. Alton Cook
calls Jay Flippen a "great wit, a veritable encyclopedia of
what great wits have been saying for generations." The
em cee propounds a question. While the amateur racks his
mind for an answer, the em cee grabs a gag or two from his
bag and jovially sends the audience into mirth and the
amateur into song.

The amateur hour has reformed its old habits. Pointed
and embarrassing questions are avoided. The personal
approach has more smoothness. The flow of wit is more
merciful. Solemnity, it was discovered, is not germane to
amateur shows. Radio itself is responsible for the growth
in critical feelings of audiences and audiences are barome-
ters of successful performance with harmonica, bazooka,
xylophone, tap-dancing, and top notes.

Radio pioneers usually result in a flood of imitations.
Imitation becomes the sincerest flattery. The amateur hour
soon became the greatest vogue in radio.

Eddie Cantor once went into an amateur night when he
was unknown and got the hook. In an interview with
Morris Markey, in The New Yorker,, Major Bowes told how
he protected himself against those angry lads who, when
they heard the gong, might cut loose his resentment into the
mike. "To protect ourselves, I have a good strong-arm man
who hustles them up to the mike and down again. They
always signal before letting the bell go, and he is ready to
grab the poor boob before he can say anything about it.
We've never had any profanity yet."

Major Bowes springs a surprise by having famous per-
sonalities in the audience take a bow before the mike. It's

170 RAPE OF RADIO

fun for the public to have an industrial nabob step up and
play the harmonica, or rip a tune out from an old saw.

The Feen-A-Mint National Amateur Night was captained
by Ray Perkins. The money prize was alluring. Fred Allen's
first prize was a fifty dollar bill with a week's contract for a
stage appearance at the Roxy Theatre in New York, and a
second prize of twenty-five dollars.

Mutual Broadcasting System developed a national ama-
teur night. They soon abandoned amateurs in all but name.
Fred Allen's "Town Hall Tonight" followed suit by throw-
ing over its amateur portion of the program to professional
talent as well, but Major Bowes program remains the only
practically one hundred per cent amateur program on
the air.

Fred Allen made it known that many of these amateurs
are more temperamental than the stars. "For sheer ripsnort-
ing temperament, I'll take the amateurs any day. Some of
those lads and lassies, singers, pianists, imitators, etc., could
give a matinee idol tips on artistic bombast." He tells the
story of an Irish tenor who got mad because Fred called him
'Eddie,' acidly insisting that his name was Mr. So-and-so.
An applicant who had been successfully auditioned, wired
at the last minute that he would not allow himself to appear
on a program that featured such acts as a "singing rooster."

The amateur has been lured on by press-agent yarns of
sudden fame and fortune. Amateurs like to learn that Kate
Smith time and time again was told that she was merely
wasting her energies by trying to get into radio, or that Lily
Pons was once refused after being auditioned.

The variation of the amateur hour was Haven MacQuar-
rie's program, "Do You Want to Be an Actor?" The candi-
dates were chosen from the letters of application. They were
put through an audition and the impossible types were
dismissed. The survivors were told to come to the studio

MAJOR BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 171

just before broadcast time. They were then put through
their paces in a hypothetical drama before the mike.

The main object of this program was farce-comedy. The
aspiring amateur actor was made the target for cheap wit
as he was interrupted with small jokes, to keep the pace
lively. When one young lady said her name was Betty C.
Green, MacQuarrie sallied, "Did you see anything else?"
Jokes like that popped up during the program. The pro-
gram had some virtues because many aspirants, after hearing
themselves, usually decided that acting was not their right
career.

The number of those who have traced their fame to the
radio amateur hour is almost zero. One points to Doris
Wester who went into the films and changed her name to
Walton.

Radio can become the promised land of our younger,
gifted performers, composers and conductors. Up to now
their opportunities have been meager. The commercially-
sponsored amateur programs have exposed them to contempt.
Sponsors have ruled them out in favor of old-established
names. Newer candidates are looked upon with suspicion.
One cannot blame the sponsors for setting their sails to
popular consumption. They are primarily business men —
not philanthropists interested in developing the Arts. Radio
must break away from the position that has put the amateur
hour into the field of comedy. The artistic impulse of any
community can best be expressed through radio art guilds
whose influence on radio programs can wield mighty influ-
ence. These radio art guilds can take the radio amateur out
of the Slough of Despond, can bring him out with a new
impulsation to the hearts and the minds of the youth of the
land who are trying out for self-expression.

Radio cries out for new personalities, but its method of
talent scouting through the avenues of amateur programs
has besmirched its efforts. Radio's greatest service to the

RAPE OF RADIO

art impulse of America will be the promotion of neutalent
irrespective of its origin or formal training.

These radio art guilds should not ''rush in whereangels
fear to tread" — their course should be guided by slcv and
judicious selection, and represent some sort of comromise
in tastes. When the community begins to realize the ptency
of radio in its cultural aspects the time will not b long
before it calls into consultation those experts wh have
given a life study to the art of self-expression.

Our radio conferences, instead of being the voice c a few
representative bodies, can embrace a larger sphere c local
organizations which, in a cross-section, truly represets the
national voice. It is the moral duty of those in th know
to contribute those forces in the community sphere which
will build up popular agitation for a right to air-tme or
experimental programs that will do credit to the natin.

The professional auditions of the Metropolitan's Audi-
tions of the Air" program might well serve the raio art
guild as a model in the discovery of new talent. The? audi-
tions of the Metropolitan Opera House permit the public
to enjoy the privilege of hearing trial tests formaV con-
ducted in strictest privacy at the opera house. Its doctor,
Edward Johnson, is a model em cee of the air, with sauve
and subtle way of boosting the opera.

In a private way, the concerts broadcast by the Curtis
Institute of Music, the Eastman School and the Cirinnati
Conservatory of Music represent distinct advances n the
methods of radio audition. Their student orchestras cham-
ber music groups, composers, vocal soloists and insmmen-
talists have a dignified opportunity on the air.

The rising "Musical Star" hour invites perfoners to
compete for the weekly cash prize; the successful corestant
also winning solo place on the current program, ts im-
portant contribution to the formula of the amateur i radio
is the jury of well-known musicians who officiate in stecting

MA JO. BOWES, CHIEF MOGUL OF THE AMATEUR HOUR 173

the winer of the substantial money reward, which goes to
the a: st whom it considers best during the entire period.

Leoard Leibling, the editor of Musical Courier, stresses
the p blem of the newcomer in radio who is told to go out
and gc a reputation and is left up against a stone wall.

"\V ere shall we get it if you won't give us a chance?"
was tc usual sensible question.

"Tut's your affair, not ours," came the final crusher.

It hoped that radio will change all that to a large
exten Leonard Leibling holds out hope for the amateur.
"Mic: phone hour is the chief discoverer of new talent and
estab her of new name values. The reasons are simple — a
regul; opera debut is a rarity, owing to so few prominent
lyrica organizations. Solo concerts offer an ominous expense
for doutantes. Radio developed its particular public con-
sistin of many millions of listeners. These changed condi-
tions ove their own merit when it is remembered that a
numbr of young performers first achieved popularity over
the a before they became regular features of the concert,
stage, nd opera houses. To mention those most prominent,
there re Helen Jepson, and Nino Martini at the Metro-
polit. and Deanna Durbin in the films."

Radio's Cinderella.

CB instituted a series in 1938 known as "Columbia's
Chor Quest." This was a contest open to amateur choirs,
chori s, and glee clubs whose members were not twenty-
five y rs of age. The prizes offered were a cup and a concert
tour ranged by the Columbia Concerts Bureau. Con-
testai ; were judged by Deems Taylor, Davison Taylor,
direc r of the music department of the CBS program divi-
sion, vo members of the Columbia Concerts Corporation,
and >r. John Finley Williamson, founder of the West-
minstr Choir School of Princeton, New Jersey.

174 RAPE OF RADIO

The pronouncement of Davison Taylor is significant of
a high aim in amateur encouragement. "This chorus quest,"
said Dr. Taylor, is intended to promote through radio the
healthy interest in song which is evidenced throughout the
country. It does not matter how large or small the com-
munity from which the choruses originate, nor what type
of music they may be interested in. What is most important
is that rich talent is hidden in the amateur song-circles of
the United States, and radio can help uncover and encour-
age some of this. Besides the formal winning of a cup, and
a concert tour, the winning group will enjoy the equally
satisfying reward of a public hearing and popular approval,
a vital and necessary stimulant for development. There is
only one basis on which this may be earned and that is

merit/'

CAN A MIKE TEACH?

EVERYONE talks about education. Dr. Robert M.
Hutchins, President of the University of Chicago, said
only recently: "Except for the weather, education is the most
popular topic in America, not excluding money, murder,
baseball and sex."

Innumerable conferences have been held to determine
the role of radio in the scheme of national learning. The
problem remains unsolved. The keenest minds have failed
to answer how education shall be fashioned to compete with
Charlie McCarthy and the "Singing Lady." Radio educa-
tion is new. Classroom teaching is a vast business, involving
expenditures of over two and a half billion dollars, and
employing over one and a half million teachers, admin-
istering to thirty million human beings, almost as many as
listen to Charlie McCarthy on his Sunday hour.

In proportion to the vast sums spent on commercial pro-
grams, the investment in radio education is as millions to
pennies. Let us engage the problem of radio education in
answer to five questions: (i) What are the general aims of
radio education? (2) How shall teachers be trained? (3) Can
radio provide education for all different kinds of people?
(4) What subjects shall be included in its curriculum? (5)
Does radio education demand new pedagogical methods to
be effective?

i. What are the aims of radio education? The word
"education" must be used guardedly on the air. It is the
better part of discretion to refer to education as "popular
talks," as do the British. Dr. James Rowland Angell, Presi-
dent Emeritus of Yale and educational adviser to the NBC,

176 RAPE OF RADIO

advocated that air education be labeled as ' 'public service,"
to avoid frightening invisible listeners with some graybeard
lecturer. Sir John Reid, formerly director of the BBC,
stated the case of the British: "The British have a more
definite plan and policy in educational broadcasting than
has ever been set forth in America. The British hold it
proper that school pupils should receive training over the
air, which will enable them in later life to listen critically,
to form judgments and build up the habits of mind that
expect significant matter — be it music, news, drama, from
broadcasting."

The announcement for school broadcasts for the year
1937-38 included the following dictum: "The new medium
has proved a tremendous enrichment in the lives of many,
opening up new fields of knowledge and inquiry, developing
new interests and mental attitudes.

"The school wireless set brings to the classroom the riches
of scientific and historical research, the masterpieces of lit-
erature and music. Able commentators on economics and
current affairs — a varied assortment of interests and topics,
which should set the child's mind roaming along many paths
of knowledge.

"It is an axiom of educational practice that the teacher
should take advantage of the inherent curiosity of the child's
mind. Broadcasts to schools using this same curiosity can add
their peculiar contribution to the practice of the teacher."

2. How shall the teacher be trained? How shall the teacher
be trained to endow the microphone with pedagogical sure-
ties? Whose is the master voice that can combine the virtues
of Will Rogers, Socrates, and Benjamin Franklin? Such an
individual, it has been suggested, would make an ideal
director of the University of the Air.

Many colleges today give only theoretical courses in
broadcasting. The teacher is often hurried to the micro-
phone with scant understanding of what it is all about.

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 177

Provisions should be made for experiment; practice broad-
casting should be as common as practice teaching. In asso-
ciation with professional broadcasters, the teachers should
study the interrelation of writing, production and delivery.
They should combine writing with the study of the drama.
Instead of a perfunctory approach to the subject the teacher
should give intensive study to the art.

Time will come when there will be specialized schools for
the training of teachers for broadcasting. It is the problem
of the universities to develop directors gifted in the origina-
tion of program ideas. It is the special province of the
educator to breathe life into the textbooks and to provide
education over the air to many adults deprived of full edu-
cational opportunities in their earlier years.

"Broadcasting is an art," said John Erskine, "and the
broadcaster is either an artist or a failure. Radio demands
a special use of the voice, and a special conciseness of lan-
guage. But otherwise, as an art it is governed by the same
principles of aesthetics as all the other arts."

Aldous Huxley boldly answers the problem: "Most of the
professors broadcasting are professors of the old type. They
have been educated in such a way that even when they
broadcast they think in terms of the language and the
methods accepted by the scholastic groups of which they are
members. Quis custodiat custodes? Who will educate the
educators? The answer is obvious. Nobody but the educators
can educate themselves, broadcastingly speaking. It may
seem like going around in a circle, but the professors will
be obliged to look for themselves."

The noted educator, Dr. Hutchins, maintains that despite
the fact that the United States has the most extensive and
elaborate system of education in the world — its people, even
those who take the highest degrees, are still uneducated.
"They may have acquired a good deal of information, much
of which is useless to them because changing conditions have

178 RAPE OF RADIO

rendered it archaic, but they have not learned to think, as
their pitiful efforts to read, write and speak, make flagrantly
evident."

Radio cannot hope to perform what the common schools
have fulfilled. Acquisition of information by microphone
lessons is often confused with knowledge. Massy information
has very little to do with education, except for exercising
the memory. Radio education at present is designed to
present information. Its highest aim lies in cultivating the
listener's thinking processes. Some say that is impossible of
achievement without the presence of the teacher, the one
teaching and the other learning. Learning does not occur
easily or casually. It requires careful direction, and hard
work. But when work is related to learning, the result is a
motion toward something definite and of discipline.

The modern conception of education emphasized the
training of the thinking processes. Can it be said that radio
will make listeners think? Can radio do what the printing
press and the classroom have failed to do?

3. Can Radio Provide Education for All Kinds of People?
Real education, it has been determined, can never be a
mass product. The very size and variety of the radio audi-
ence which includes all ages and conditions offers a challenge
to the educator. He is compelled to invent a new type of
adult education, that will make scholarship fascinating to
listeners in all sections of the country, especially in areas
isolated from the big cities and centers of learning. Radio
can only boldly attempt to supply the listener's need for
information in his special field or in related fields. If the
listener finds such a service useful, he will turn to successive
broadcasts with delight.

The highest aim of the educator is to stimulate and sus-
tain the interest in the listener's love for a subject, which
grows through the things that he does by himself under the
power of suggestion the radio educator can wield. This

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 179

power to instiil self-initiative in the listener is the most
vital influence of the radio educator. The "radio professor"
has a bigger job at the microphone than in his class room.
With students directly under his eye he can lecture for half
an hour or so and, whereas they may squirm inwardly, they
have to sit and endure it. Not so out yonder in the air! The
moment he becomes prosaic they say to themselves, "Rats
to you, prexy," and turn to a dance tune. If he can't hold
them he has failed, and failure of that sort is worse than no
effort at all.

4. What sort of curriculum shall radio offer? "Radio
education covers a multitude of broadcasting activities, any-
thing from a Metropolitan Opera House broadcast to a class-
room lecture by a professor of geology. Although over forty
per cent of the programs on the neftworks are labeled
"education," most school men are dissatisfied and frustrated
by the achievements of radio as an educational medium.
Commercial broadcasters and educators are in complete
agreement that radio can provide a vast amount of general
information for the average citizen. Radio education can
thus open up the mental vision of the world's activities,
whet the curiosity, and stimulate the instinct for factual
knowledge. In extending this realm of general information,
the broadcaster is warned not to expect miracles.

Not all subjects are adapted to radio teaching. The more
accepted educational programs are music appreciation
courses, drama, current events, history, geography, political
education, literature and science. Geography lessons, espe-
cially in the form of travel talks, rank high in satisfaction,
probably because along with history they can be dramatized
picturesquely; these subjects lend themselves to the show
business. Events and places can be re-created and visualized
when a traveler or explorer reveals his personal experiences.
Such talks leave an imprint on the youthful mind far dif-
ferent from a textbook. Youth's sense of hearing is sharp.

l8o RAPE OF RADIO

School administrators, in summarizing, have rated the
subjects which best lend themselves to broadcast teaching
as follows: Music appreciation, geography and travel, Eng-
lish and literature, health and hygiene, history, current
events, civics, nature study and science, foreign languages.
This line-up seems to be about the same in all countries,
although each subject's place on the list may vary somewhat
from country to country. Music is universally at the top of
the list.

The earliest form of education by radio seems to have
been through the cultural impact upon the masses of truly
good music. Grand opera, for instance, that had never before
reached the common people except through phonograph
records presently became available to radio listeners. To be
sure, there was a transition period in which public reaction
was tested. Among the pioneers in this field who are still
occupying a responsible relation to radio is Franklin Dun-
ham, now educational director of the National Broadcasting
Company.

The Music Appreciation programs of Dr. Walter Dam-
rosch come in that class of educational programs which are
"naturals." Dr. Damrosch estimates that his audience for
musical appreciation runs close to seven millions scattered
from coast-to-coast. He, as the outstanding teacher and
pioneer in this field, has received thousands and thousands
of letters from the listening public and from school teachers
to prove that radio carries education afar and reaches a
vast assembly, which displays "an amazing musical intelli-
gence, unswervingly classical." Many schools, especially in
the less populous areas of the country, use these courses as
a basis for teaching, and the classics have been made mean-
ingful to the masses who have never before enjoyed the
glory of Bach or Beethoven. Another earnest educational
attempt is WABC's "School of the Air." History or geog-

CAN A MIKE TEACH? l8l

raphy woven into light variety entertainment and drama,
painlessly conveys fact and information.

Two important problems always face the educator. First,
how can the audience be persuaded to listen? Second, how
can that interest be retained so that listeners will not tune
out?

The school, rooted in tradition, develops and adapts
teaching techniques slowly. Radio, if it is to teach at all, must
first master the problem of attracting and holding an audi-
ence. Educational programs have not had the advantage of
the same experimenting as commercial programs. When
educational programs are built up, rehearsed, and promoted
for results, they may begin to rise in the popularity polls
to the same heights as Jack Benny.

Educational broadcasting therefore presents the lure of
entertainment. The listener can be beguiled into becoming
educated willy-nilly. The subject must in the first place have
some bearing on the listener's own problems and experi-
ences. This awakens a primary interest. At this point, the
educator must keep up with the work and take advantage
of the listener's curiosity and natural interest. If these in-
terests are killed, the broadcast has done more harm than
good.

The process is a painless one. When Max Eastman initi-
ated the "Word Quiz" program for CBS he frankly told his
audience, "I must manage to make your brain have a good
time. If you manage to learn something, please keep it a
dark secret, and don't call me an educator."

Radio education however must stand on tiptoes. The
invisible pedagogue strives to inspire self-initiative in the
listeners. And self-initiative is the basis of all learning. The
creation of a National Education Radio Commission, ap-
pointed by the President and supported by a federal tax
on time devoted to advertising, was advocated by Dr. Jerome
Davis of the Yale Divinity School. He expressed the belief

l82 RAPE OF RADIO

that the British system is preferable to the United States'
broadcasting setup.

The educator needs encouragement, otherwise he stands
on the outside lines, inept and uninspired. The educator
has been accused of inefficient planning, preparation and
•delivery. But remember, he is expected to work for little
or nothing in the school of the air. Hendrik Willem van
Loon, for example, spends a day in the preparation of what
he regards as an educational talk. For this effort he is paid
twenty-five dollars — a paltry sum compared with the stipend
of a low-grade comedian.

5. New Techniques — The radio educator who feels the
importance of his mission must not scorn the methods of
the entertainer, nor consider himself divorced from all other
departments of radio. Educators, ignorant of the techniques
and the approach to broadcasting, fail dismally. Dr. Stude-
baker, Commissioner of Education, frankly admits: "The
history of educational broadcasting is strewn with the bones
of dry lecturers because education went on the air without
mastery of the art of teaching by radio. Equally ineffective
have been the efforts of broadcasters who knew radio show-
manship, but did not know what or how to teach."

The three types of presentation fall into the dramatic,
interview, and lecture methods. Dramatization is most effec-
tive when listeners are not acquainted with the subject sup-
plemented by sound effect and varied voices. The interview
is most useful in presenting an authority who is skilled in
radio speaking. It is taken for granted that the interviewer
is equally facile. "The straight talk is most effective when
the listener has been made interested," says Professor H.
E. Ewbank, of the University of Wisconsin.

Anyone can read off a lesson. But listeners are made only
by enthusiastic teachers who have something to impart
close to their own hearts and minds. Let the stigma that
educators are "bum showmen be removed."

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 183

When Hendrik Willem van Loon quit the radio early
in 1938 with a chip on his shoulder, he culminated against
following old ideas unadapted to such a new medium that
calls for new technique and modern methods. Van Loon
protests: "It seems to me that in applying radio to teaching
we have been following school room and university tactics,
as long as the horse is pulling the buggy and not the engine.
The motor calls for an entirely different style of carriage.
And so in radio I think we have reached the point where
teaching methods in educational institutions should be re-
modeled for an unseen audience instead of a visible. The
programs or lessons must be designed first and foremost for
radio, and in doing so they may be quite contrary to school
room technique, where the teacher, the book and the black-
board are all present."

The Future of Radio Education

What does the future hold for radio in education? Are
educators following the will o' the wisp? Frank E. Hill, the
author of ''Listen and Learn," looks ahead to 1947. In the
first of a series of studies on adult education, sponsored by
the Carnegie Corporation, Hill avers that most of the good
educational broadcasters in schools and colleges are still in
hiding. Education by air is more an art than a profession.
Those gifted in that art should be discovered and put to
work for the benefit of a tremendously large classroom.

Many of the future radio educators, it is predicted, will
come from the ranks of dramatists, writers and actors. A
vast number of learners need both sound as well as sight
to comprehend instruction. Radio does not offer a multiple
appeal, which is the peculiar province of the teacher. Until
television conies, radio education may be regarded as only
half-teaching.

Up to now radio broadcasting has been a novelty. The

184 RAPE OF RADIO

novelty is beginning to wear off. The new radio education
will include fundamental instruction, as well as supple-
mentary work, and visits to the homes of the listeners. School
programs of the future will be broadcast over the short
wave frequencies from a central point since commercial
stations cannot surrender sufficient time to the schools. The
teaching staff, instead of being reduced, will be augmented.
Radio will demand a specialized group with agreeable voices.
Until students have a way of talking back to the radio,
no device can take the place of the teacher.

The late Glenn Frank, former President of the University
of Wisconsin, regarded radio education as in constant flux.
"Radio has given education a new medium," he declared.
"Education must invest radio with meaning."

Success in educational broadcasting will depend upon the
finest in quality and in content, presented by the best minds
in such an entertaining manner, as will lead men and women
to turn to the radio for cultural guidance and information.
At the present time educational broadcasting in the
United States is not established on a sound financial basis.
In a number of instances, the radio station has furnished
time, and educational agencies have built programs. Among
the proposals that have come to the attention of financing
educational broadcasting are: (i) federal state aid for local
school funds; (2) listeners' license fees; (3) sales tax on radio
sets; (4) sales tax on radio tubes; (5) broadcast license fees;
(6) taxes on radio advertising; (7) taxes on electrical tran-
scriptions and foundation grants. The public has some re-
sponsibility also. Possibly the federal government should as-
sume more responsibility than it has.

The government is responsible for the creation of every
station. That responsibility should include certain safe-
guards for the public interest. Shall it abandon all safe-
guards? Dr. Studebaker, Commissioner of Education, is the
proponent of three important responsibilities which should

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 185

be exercised by the government. The first of these is the
responsibility to safeguard the radio frequencies to insure
the maximum of public service. Nearly ninety-seven per cent
of the frequencies within the regular broadcast band have
been handed over to commercial companies.

The second of these responsibilities of the federal govern-
ment is to acquaint the public with the work of the govern-
ment and thus contribute to national well-being. This will
smack of propaganda, but Dr. Studebaker recommends
forum discussions as a powerful force in the diffusion of in-
formation. The third responsibility of the government is to
educate the public concerning the services which should be
expected of radio and to persuade and assist broadcasters to
improve the use of the air in the public interest, conven-
ience and necessity. This indeed is a noble ambition. If the
public is made wise to the limited fare they are offered, the
public howl may have some effect.

Dr. James R. Angell, former President of Yale, now edu-
cational Counsellor for the National Broadcasting Company,
calls attention to the diversity of interests, which character-
izes this nation of one hundred and thirty million. Because
of this diversity he would shift the educational problem to
local stations. "So far as I have been able to determine,"
said Dr. Angell, "a regular day by day service to the schools,
of matters directly related to their normal curriculum, can
be best supplied at local stations, whether commercially
owned or owned by the State University."

In 1937, Dr. Studebaker announced before the first na-
tional radio education conference held in Washington, the
six goals which it was hoped would be achieved within ten
years. It is important to consider these principles to deter-
mine whether the goals are mere matters of a ten year idea-
ology or whether progress can be assured.

i. Development of competent educational radio produc-

l86 RAPE OF RADIO

ing groups in schools and colleges to broadcast on both local
and educational stations.

2. Further cooperation between educators and broad-
casters through the Federal Educational Committee.

3. Further experimentation and demonstration in radio
in education by the Office of Education and expansion of
the service to other agencies interested in the problem.

4. Development of practical training facilities for edu-
cators charged with creating radio programs as well as for
those using them for instructional purposes.

5. Establishment of short wave stations by local school
systems.

6. More adequate support of existing educational radio
stations with increased power and time to enable them to
serve a larger clientele.

In 1938 WEVD's University of the Air assembled a group
of important educators to discuss the problems of radio in
education. Among them were the versatile Hendrik Willem
van Loon, Director of the New School for Social Research;
Dr. Alvin Johnson, Dean of New York University; Dr. Ned
H. Dearborn, executive director of the New York Adult
Educational Council; Miss Winifred Fisher, and the Director
of Ethical Culture Society, Dr. John Lovejoy Elliott. Here
are the highlights of their radio conversations which suc-
cinctly analyze the problem of education over the air.

Hendrik van Loon: NBC and Columbia are hunting for
educational programs. Do they have any ideas? They have
come down to Professor Quiz. Anything more elevating they
won't listen to. WEVD has had all the great scientists and
teachers and has pioneered.

Dr. Alvin Johnson: My first notion is that we don't have
enough respect for American people to really deserve to put
educators on the air. People show a lot of reluctance in lis-
tening to us. So many educational programs are a lot of

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 187

patronizing stuff that my children would turn off the radio
the moment they heard it.

Mr. van Loon: We give it away for nothing. That's the
trouble. They don't care a damn. That's been true from the
time of Jesus to Hitler.

Dr. Johnson: We look around for some one who will pro-
duce the stuff for nothing, make him feel that he has a
wonderful privilege in talking to eighty million people over
a hookup when the fact is, they haven't given him the condi-
tions to do a thing worth the time of eight people, let alone
eighty million.

Dr. Ned H. Dearborn: We have not been able to get
together on anything that is good for education in radio.
Committees have been scrapping for a place in the sun. The
industry has been arrogant. A leading executive in a recent
speech said: "Any attack on the American system of broad-
casting is a fundamental attack on democracy itself."

Dr. Johnson: There is no objection to the system. I am a
member of Columbia's committee on education, a fairly
representative organization. We are given one half-hour and
two fifteen-minute periods of evening time worth a million
dollars. But what does anybody give for producing material
for an educational program? Our education programs should
be worked over to the same extent that a Fred Allen show is.
Then we would have good educational programs.

Miss Winifred Fisher: I don't listen to radio. I have been
disappointed because of their assumption that you are so
stupid and that education must be sugar-coated and diluted
over the air. I would listen to radio if more substance and
less pap were put into educational talks.

Mr. van Loon: You can't tell that to radio stations who
are afraid of advertisers.

Miss Fisher: It's the fault of the people who don't write
and complain to the stations.

Dr. Dearborn: You can't expect men with lots of money
to have a social-minded approach.

Dr. John L. Elliott: We have a way of passing our interest
to another country. There isn't anything our people can do
for the people in Vienna. Why not begin with the problems

l88 RAPE OF RADIO

at our door? Unemployment is the problem in this country.
There are people who can discuss the question without
propaganda. Get people who are working on the job of
democracy in this country and in our city.

Mr. van Loon: In other words, discuss economic prob-
lems, social problems.

Visitor: When you discuss relief you cannot do it from
a non-partisan point of view. Discussions should take the
form of debates. They are listened to.

Dr. Johnson: More time must be spent on a fifteen-minute
program than on an article in a magazine. You must make
a living from it to do as good a job as Vallee does with his
program. When radio takes education seriously it will give
not only one million dollars of its time, but it will give
enough money to people who will really work their heads
off to get something done. Then what is put on the air can
be a priceless piece of art. Something on which no amount
of patience should be spared.

The Correspondence School of the Air

The Board of Education of New York City conducted
courses on the air which were a distinct advance in method.
The project was the teaching of English by remote control
to Italian, Jewish and German residents, the city's dominant
racial groups. The schedule calls for radio programs of fif-
teen minutes each in which the teacher translates back and
forth in English to the native language of the listener. The
course is conducted along classroom lines with the students
doing homework and sending it in for correction. Advice
and criticism are given by six traveling tutors, who visit
them in their own homes.

Honors are even awarded to those pupils who regularly
mail in their homework and show the best progress. There
is even a summa cum laude for those showing outstanding
improvement, which takes the form of an invitation to visit a
radio station and participate in a broadcast.

CAN A MIKE TEACH? l8q

</

Women predominate among the registrants. A housewife,
who must send her children to school, prepare dinner, mar-
ket, and mend, has little time to attend the neighboring
WPA schools for adults. As she stands in the kitchen, she
may turn on the radio and listen to an instructor, who speaks
her own tongue. She is thus taught the elements of a lan-
guage she has really never had time to learn. The instruc-
tion is based upon a textbook which, though based upon
the fundamental principles for children, has been brought
up to adult level.

Education on the Air

The ideal to be aimed at in propagandist efforts would
seem to require a frank avowal of the purposes and interests
represented when a broadcaster seeks to win support for his
position; also an honest presentation of all the facts which
the reader or listener has a right to know in order to form
an intelligent judgment. So safeguarded, propaganda over
the radio, as elsewhere, is a form of the normal effort of
human beings to influence one another's attitudes.

Many persons insist that no commercial program can pos-
sibly be educational. Yet some commercial programs may
be more truly educational in the sense of developing new
interest and providing cultural enrichment than some of
those provided by educational institutions. Advertising, in
connection writh the broadcasting of a symphony concert or
the Metropolitan Opera, is highly displeasing to many listen-
ers, yet very few would deny that to make grand opera or
symphony music available to listeners all over the country
is to provide a genuine education in musical appreciation
to many who otherwise could never hope to hear more than
short excerpts from such works on phonograph records.

Educational broadcasting, in the narrower sense of the
term, includes stimulating interest, providing specific in-

1QO RAPE OF RADIO

formation, and teaching new skills. Many educators feel that
the first is the task for which radio is best adapted and that
the emphasis should be placed there. Others point to the
success of the land-grant colleges in broadcasting informa-
tion to farmers about improved methods and to the popu-
larity among housewives of home economics talks. Still
others point to the teaching of arithmetic by radio in the
Cleveland schools to the lessons in the playing of band and
orchestral instruments broadcast for more than five years by
Dr. Joseph E. Maddy, of the University of Michigan.

Some educators believe that the lecturer who is popular in
the classroom is equally interesting to the radio audience,
and that the hour or two-hour lecture is not too long for the
listener who "really wants education." Early in 1937 Har-
vard University began to broadcast certain classroom lectures
and other programs over WIXAL, a short-wave, noncom-
mercial station. The experiment, the first attempt to broad-
cast classroom lectures internationally, was so successful that
it has been continued.

The difficulty is not only the fact that a large proportion
of listeners will tune out "heavy" lectures, but that they
will fail to tune in again for later programs in which they
would be interested. Thus, the station fears, it will lose its
audience for commercial programs — and on that its income
depends. Yet this problem is not one for commercial broad-
casters alone, for an audience is essential in any case.

School Broadcasts

In 1937-38 the American School of the Air was broadcast
for thirty minutes every school day by ninety stations affili-
ated with the Columbia System. During the same year the
National Education Association, the Progressive Education
Association, the National Council of Teachers of English,
the National Council of Teachers of Geography, the Na~

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 1Q1

tional Vocational Guidance Association, and Junior Pro-
grams cooperated in the programs. Professor William C.
Bagley, of Teachers College, Columbia University, is chair-
man of the Board of Consultants.

The Communications Commission has formulated engi-
neering requirements which school systems preparing to in-
stall stations must meet. A maximum of one thousand-watts
power and a minimum of one hundred watts are required,
although the latter may be modified for schools which can
show that lower power is better adapted to their needs.

Educational Stations

From 1921 through 1936, two hundred and two broad-
cast licenses were issued to one hundred and sixty-eight edu-
cational institutions. In January, 1937, there were thirty-
eight stations owned by educational institutions, and one
short-wave educational station which is not owned by an in-
stitution.

More controversy has centered in the question of educa-
tional stations than in almost any other aspect of broadcast-
ing. When licenses were given to all applicants, many insti-
tutions secured licenses. But many made little or no use of
their stations. Gradually, many of these institutions either
gave up their licenses or leased the stations to commercial
companies.

In the fall of 1934 the Federal Communications Commis-
sion held a series of hearings on the question of allocating
definite frequencies to educational stations, in accordance
with a provision of the Federal Communications Act. The
commercial broadcasters brought forward an impressive
amount of testimony to show that educators were not making
use of the opportunities offered, while the National Com-
mittee could not prove any great public interest in its
proposal.

ig2 RAPE OF RADIO

All the educational stations which are operated on a non-
commercial basis have very limited budgets. WHA in Wis-
consin, which is described as "the largest of the educational
stations in physical plant, one of the largest in transmission
power, the richest in financial resources, and probably the
most outstanding in the quality of its programs," had a
budget of twenty-five thousand dollars for 1937-38.

i

Co-operation Between Educators and Broadcasters

After the Federal Communications Commission decided
not to recommend the allocation of specific frequencies for
educational stations, the Federal Radio Education Commit-
tee was set up in 1935 by the Commission to "eliminate con-
troversy and misunderstanding" and to "promote cooperative
arrangements between educators and broadcasters on na-
tional, regional, and local bases." John W. Studebaker,
Commissioner of Education, is chairman. The committee
includes prominent educators, religious and labor leaders,
representatives of educational stations, and commercial
broadcasters. With the appointment of this committee the
importance of the problem was definitely recognized by the
government. A series of studies which, it is estimated, will
require two years for its completion at a total cost of two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been approved. Edu-
cational foundations have promised two-thirds of the neces-
sary funds, and, it is expected, the remainder will be con-
tributed by the broadcasters. Among the projects for study
are "a survey of successful efforts by local stations to secure
cooperation with civic and other nonprofit groups in their
respective communities," a study of teacher-training courses
in the use of school radio programs, the creation of a clear-
ing house of information on educational broadcasting, a
study of methods of publicizing radio programs, a survey of
"organized listening groups here and abroad," the develop-

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 193

ment of techniques for evaluating radio programs (this is be-
ing carried on by Ohio State University on a grant from the
General Education Board), a study of cooperation between
local stations and local educational institutions, a survey of
experience in network educational broadcasting, an analysis
of public opinion in regard to educational broadcasting, and
a study of radio listeners (this is being carried on by Prince-
ton University on a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation).

One of the most interesting developments in the local field
is that of the University Broadcasting Council in Chicago,
a nonprofit corporation under the laws of Illinois. Three
universities — Chicago, DePaul, and Northwestern — each ap-
point two of its six trustees. Thus it functions essentially as
the radio departments of the universities. It cooperates with
five stations in the Chicago area, including the key stations
of BBC, Columbia and Mutual. Nearly half its budget of
fifty-six thousand five hundred dollars for the year 1938 was
met by contributions from the universities and the stations
and the remainder is furnished by the Rockefeller Fund.

Perhaps the most impressive statement of the charges of
the educators is made in Four Years of Network Broadcast-
ing, issued by the Committee on Civic Education of the
National Advisory Council on Radio in Education. As a re-
sult of numerous changes in hours, the shift from one net-
work to the other, cutting the time of the programs in half,
failing to provide lists of the stations carrying the programs
in time to send out publicity, and failure to keep the stations
in line for the whole series of programs, the committee con-
cluded by 1937 that "it is useless at this time to attempt sys-
tematic education by national network broadcasting at hours
when it will be available to large adult audiences." "Educa-
tional broadcasting," the committee complains, "has become
the poor relation of commercial broadcasting, and the pau-
perization" of the former has "increased in direct proportion
to the growing affluence" of the latter.

194 RAPE OF RADIO

It seems that both networks and stations may be becoming
aware of the seriousness of the problem. In 1937 the NBC
appointed Dr. James W. Angell, president-emeritus of Yale
University, as its educational counsellor. In the same year
WBEN of Buffalo appointed B. H. Darrow, well-known for
his work in the Ohio School of the Air, as educational direc-
tor. It may be noted that since 1933 the position of educa-
tional director of the NBC has been a subordinate one.
For the first time a network has a really prominent educator
formally appointed as counsellor. Mr. Darrow is the first pne
appointed by an independently owned commercial station
"exclusively for educating." On January 10, 1939, the Co-
lumbia System announced the appointment of an Adult
Education Board of educators and publicists with Professor
Lyman Bryson, of Teachers College, Columbia University,
as chairman. The board is studying the scope and purpose
of adult education over the air to meet the needs of a
democracy, seeking to perfect techniques for this type of
broadcasting. All educational series presented by the Sys-
tem's department of education are arranged with the counsel
of the board. Late in July, 1938, the NBC announced that
an educational division would be established in the program
department, in accordance with suggestions made by Doctor
Angell.

It is assumed that such local control enables the fullest
adjustment to the peculiarities of a particular school system.
The school officials and teachers are enabled to work out
the programs most appropriate to the local needs. The plan
allows for greater flexibility and freedom to adjust pro-
grams to changes suddenly precipitated by any one of the
unforeseen accidents which afflict a school system.

This sounds as if the great change could do nothing di-
rectly for the schools. Dr. Angell disavows this belief. "It
does mean," he says, "that with forty-eight states and four
district time zones to be served, each State having its own pe-

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 1Q5

culiar problems and prejudices, it is humanly all but im-
possible for the great change to furnish a regular day by
day routine service to meet the needs and the complete
school curriculum.

"They can from time to time offer brilliant supplements
of the school program which a local station could almost
never demand. And in certain fields, such as music, litera-
ture, social science and health, they will probably for a long
time to come be the only source to which the schools can
look for the best."

The networks loftily and frequently exploit the "great"
educational "value" of radio as a new and far-reaching
medium. An analysis of radio programs leads one to sus-
picion that the overlords of radio do not mean what they
say. There is precious little of what may be termed "educa-
tion" in radio, but with tongue-in-cheek the networks have
from time to time really been moved to do something
about it.

Visionaries see in radio the end of all blackboards, text
books and even the teacher. Other observers know that radio
can never supplant the discipline of the classroom and the
guidance and inspiration of the teacher. The teacher was
at first inclined to believe that radio was a labor-saving de-
vice that would pre-empt her place in the classroom. All
this is a fallacy. Eighteen years of educational broadcasting
have proven that radio is merely a supplementary branch of
the classroom, and not a revolutionary method in instruction.

Only a few educational programs are outstanding. Educa-
tional theory has been tested by listener demand, and the
dry-as-dust formula has proved a flop.

Sustained Programs

Back in 1930, when the CBS American School of the Air
started, juvenile education by radio was a novelty. Adult

10 RAPE OF RADIO

education by the same medium was virtually nonexistent.
But the educational possibilities of the microphone were
plain, and leading radio interests began experimenting with
the idea until the tide started flowing. It has been brought
to a crest in the CBS's Adult Education Series.

This CBS series is noteworthy because: (i) It engages top-
flight authorities in their fields; (2) it is divided into three
departments of instruction, with weekly programs in each;
(3) it is not a trial balloon but a permanent schedule.

The first department, "Americans at Work," went on the
air April 28; the second, "Living History," May 4; the third,
"Adventures in Science," May 6. Other departments have
followed.

"Americans at Work," is a close-up picture of industry;
it catches workmen of all kinds — sandhogs, steelworkers, lo-
comotive engineers — right at their jobs in their overalls.
"Living History" dramatizes famous movements of the past
and, where possible, draws an illuminating parallel with
the present. "Adventures in Science" presents scientific views
of important discoveries and theories in modern medicine,
endocrinology, atomic research, and so on.

"THE POSSIBILITIES OF EDUCATION THROUGH

RADIO-
By Prof. Henry Pratt Fairchild, Chairman, Sociology Department, New
York University Graduate School, over Station WEVD, Tuesday, June 14,
1938. The first in a series by members of the Advisory Board of the WEVD
University of the Air.

There is no doubt that the American people is pro-
foundly education-minded. Our whole tradition, our whole
national philosophy, induce us to lean heavily on education
as a solution of all problems, an avenue to all happiness.
Whenever any new invention or discovery is made available
almost immediately some one begins to ask how it can be
made useful in the field of education.

CAN A MIKE TEACH?

It was to be expected, therefore, that as soon as the
marvellous instrument of radio broadcasting had demon-
strated its practicability the eyes of educators, publicists,
moral leaders, and perhaps some less objective representa-
tives of special interests should focus themselves upon it in
the effort to discover its latent possibilities. It was natural,
also, that the first line of thought should link it up with
existing educational agencies. It was considered as a new
implement to be added to the equipment of the public
schools, colleges, and universities. The question was how
the existing teaching staffs of these institutions could be
mobilized effectively for this new attack on ignorance, and
how the conventional techniques and processes of instruc-
tion could be adapted to reach a new type of pupils.

One of the early ideas was to achieve the maximum of
economy by simply broadcasting regular courses from the
class-room. I believe I was the first, at least one of the two
first, teachers to be invited to participate in such an experi-
ment. The administration of New York University was
much interested, and facilitated the experiment in every
way. I shall never forget the thrill of the first occasion, or
the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I saw,
in addition to the familiar group of student faces in front
of me, that strange-looking little instrument set up on my
desk, and realized that the responsibility was on me to de-
liver a coherent and intelligible presentation of the subject
to an unknown number of unseen auditors. Of course the
students loved it — the students there in the class-room, I
mean. This was many years ago, and radio was very new.
To see a little group of important looking men come into
the room and set up an elaborate and impressive lot of
equipment, and then to listen breathlessly for the first words
of wisdom to go floating off into the ether gave them a
tremendous kick.

There were obviously technical difficulties on the me-

198 RAPE OF RADIO

chanical side. I could see that things were not always going
smoothly. One night the transmission wire broke down and
I don't know how many hundreds of thousands of eager
learners were deprived of their evening dose of priceless
wisdom.

There were also technical difficulties from the pedagogical
side. The regular class period was an hour and three quar-
ters, while the radio spot in those days was twenty minutes.
The class met once a week. I was therefore under the obli-
gation of keeping two independent but connected lecture
series going. The first twenty minutes of each session had
to be continuous and consistent for the sake of the radio
audience, while the remaining hour and twenty-five minutes
had also to be a consistent unit in itself without so much
padding as to strain the conscience of a fairly seasoned
instructor. It wasn't too easy. More than this, the subjection
to the microphone seriously cramps the style of a teacher
who is at the same time trying to deal fairly with a corporeal
group of students. He wants to be free to move about, to
sit down or stand up, to turn his back and put something
on the blackboard. I very soon became convinced that the
two types of instruction required quite different techniques,
which would not be well mixed. Apparently the superior
powers came to a similar conclusion, for the experiment was
discontinued after a run of six or eight weeks. I never took
the pains to inquire into the reasons, nor did I give much
weight to the suggestion offered by one of my fan mail
correspondents that my lectures contained a little too much
sound radicalism to be acceptable in all quarters.

But at any rate, this venture demonstrated that whatever
the possibilities of radio education may be, it is hampered
by certain limitations that do not affect ordinary class-room
teaching. Radio instruction is, by its very nature, a one-way
process, and it is an open question how much real education
can be achieved when the flow of human relationships is all

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 1QQ

in one direction. Heaven knows that there is all too much
of the one-way business in a great deal of our current
college and university teaching. The size of classes, and other
pedagogical considerations, compel the use of the so-called
"lecture system" in a large proportion of the courses in many
of our institutions. Many of my present listeners have un-
doubtedly been subjected to this alleged educational pro-
cedure, and I am sure that most of them will agree with
me as to the validity of a definition offered by a certain
undergraduate student. This young man said that "The
lecture system, as developed in our American colleges and
universities is a system whereby ideas pass from the lips
of the instructors to the note-books of pupils without passing
through the minds of either." Now you see, just to illustrate
my point, I have no way of knowing whether that got a
laugh or not. I have always thought that the reference to
ideas in that definition was a trifle optimistic, but aside from
that I think it comes very close to the truth.

But even at its worst, the system of class-room lectures
has many advantages over talking to an unseen audience.
The teacher who has his class actually before him can tell
to some extent, by the looks of his auditors, whether he is
putting his points across or not. At least he can tell whether
he is keeping his class awake. If he finds that he is not to
a full hundred per cent he may be rather pointedly reminded
that it is his own fault. I heard of one college professor who
noticed that one of the men in the front row was slumbering
soundly, and he called to the man in the adjacent seat and
said, "Brown, wake up that man next to you." "Wake him up
yourself," said Brown, "you put him to sleep." Of course
there are some teachers whose soporific talents are so great
is to affect even themselves. I was told the other day of a
certain professor who dreamed that he was teaching a class
and woke up and found he was.

But if the teacher is really worth the name there is

2OO RAPE OF RADIO

unquestionably an influence exerted by him upon his pupils,
an intangible something that emanates from him and pro-
duces an effect upon them that can not possibly be achieved
by the heard voice alone, even though the speaker may be
peculiarly gifted with that indefinable ability to put his
personality across over the air. And even in courses that
follow the lecture method, there is usually an opportunity
for individual students to raise questions or interpose objec-
tions in special cases.

But I believe I am expressing the convictions of almost
all true teachers when I say that the soundest education
must always be a two-way process. This does not merely
mean that the teacher must have a chance of testing the
student's preparation, or finding out directly how much he
has learned from his studies up to date. In many subjects, at
least, it is much more than that. Genuine education is much
more than the simple presentation and apprehension of
facts, or even of truth. There is always a question of inter-
pretation, of analysis, of emphasis, and these matters vary
greatly according to the character of the personalities in-
volved. One of the most scholarly men I ever knew, a
person of true eminence, told me that in his teaching at
one of our old New England universities, when dealing with
controversial political and economic subjects he felt com-
pelled to express views and opinions much more radical
than he really held, because he knew that his students would
discount whatever he said so heavily that in order to produce
the correct impression on their minds the actual statement
had to be exaggerated. It is a truism to say that real educa-
tion is a growth process, and growth is always affected by
the environmental conditions. In the class-room the intel-
lectual environment is provided not only by the teacher,
but the students themselves. Frequently more is learned by
a given student from listening to the questions and com-
ments of other students, and the interchange between them

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 2O1

and the teacher, than from his own direct relations with
the teacher. It is doubtful whether any satisfactory educa-
tional substitute can ever be found for the small, face-to-face
group of learners, including the nominal instructor, who
participate jointly in the pursuit of that development ol
personality which is the great aim of all education, and
which can be no more standardized and depersonalized than
can human beings themselves.

All of the foregoing is true of education in general, re-
gardless of the specific subject. Obviously difficulties increase
in the case of these subjects, particularly various sciences,
where laboratory experience and practice is virtually
necessary. Clearly, ordinary laboratory instruction and ex-
perimentation can not be conducted over the air. There is,
indeed, a very interesting and important point as to how
far conventional laboratory experience is really essential
to the mastery of such subjects as chemistry, physics, and
biology. A very significant series of educational researches
could well be undertaken in this field. It would be an
exciting task to discover to what extent a radio audience
could be instructed and assisted to perform for themselves,
with such equipment as the ordinary household could sup-
ply, such experiments as are absolutely essential for the
grasp of the elements of the physical sciences.

For the present, however, almost by tacit assumption the
field of radio education has been limited to subjects requir-
ing no special laboratory experience. This tends to narrow
it down to the humanities and the social sciences. Here is
a broad enough field, to be sure, to occupy the attention
of existing educational radio facilities for some time to
come. And perhaps it is the field where radio education is
most vitally important. For it is particularly in the field of
the social sciences that the linkage of behavior to sound
intellectual competence is most vital to the individual and
society. Very few persons have to practice chemistry, or

202 RAPE OF RADIO

physics, or biology to more than a very limited extent, unless
they choose them as a career. But everybody, particularly in
a democracy, has to practice social relationships, and if he
does not practice them intelligently and wisely he must
perforce practice them stupidly and blindly.

In my talk thus far I have laid particular stress on the
difficulties and limitations of radio education. These can
never be ignored. But it is equally important to recognize
that radio instruction has many distinct and peculiar ad-
vantages. These are so numerous that they can be hardly
more than mentioned in the remaining minute or two. First
of all, and most obvious, is the vast multiplication of the
number of students made possible by the broadcast method.
In a single evening a given teacher can reach many times
more pupils than he could hope to influence in a lifetime
of ordinary teaching. And if he has a significant message to
deliver this is of vital importance. In the second place, radio
education is far less responsive than study in any of the
conventional institutions. It can be done in the pupil's
home, no extra expenses for travel, residence, food, etc. It
is a temptation to point out in addition that the expenses
of instruction are further cut down by the fact that in many
cases the teacher gets no pay for the instruction he does
over the air — but I won't go into that. In the third place,
as radio education is developed, it will become more and
more possible for the student to adjust his learning activities
to the requirements of his regular job or occupation. There
is already an effort to schedule educational programs at
hours when workers of all types are most likely to be at
leisure. Again, a radio educational agency is likely to be
able to call on a more diversified, and possibly more com-
petent, list of instructors than is ordinarily found in any
single institution. There is also less subjection to formalized
curricula, sequence of coures, departmentalization, etc.

Whatever the balance of advantages and disadvantages

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 2 03

may be, there can be no question that radio education has
come to stay, and is destined for a development far beyond
anything observable at present. Whether it is possible, or
even desirable, to perfect in radio education devices for
checking on the progress of the student through examina-
tions, reports, and papers such as are used in standard
education is a matter for study and reflection. But we can
be thankful that radio has already blazed a trail into the
wilderness of popular ignorance and lack of information,
and that such institutions as the WEVD University of the
Air are even now building up the sound foundation of
popular intelligence and understanding on which all true
democracy must forever rest.

"GIVING EDUCATION THE AIR"

By Dr. William E. Bohn, Educational Director, Rand School, in the WEVD
University of the Air series, Tuesday, June 21, 1938.

There has been a lot of talk about giving education the
privileges of the air. Not much has come of it. Not much
will come of it until we boot out of our studio all conven-
tional educators and conventional ideas. Intelligent people
have been trying for a generation to cut loose from the old
schoolmasterish methods. Here we have the chance of the
ages. We are free from the schoolroom, the blackboard, the
textbook, the outline, the examination — the whole miserable
paraphernalia which has kept us in a straight] acket. We have
a new medium, the air. The whole world is at our command.
We can get the teachers we want, use any method which we
have wit enough to devise. And — so far — we have done just
about nothing.

Of course, there has been a good deal of learning around
the receiving set. But there has been, too, much improve-
ment of the human mind at Coney Island. All of life is
educational. Horse-races, and prize-fights have probably

204 RAPE OF RADIO

pointed many a man the way to a better life. If you look at
it broadly, every radio program probably teaches someone
something. The endles swing music, the synthetic jokes, the
obvious Hollywood exhibitionism — all are education. Life
itself is a great school. And the radio gives us life distilled
through a microphone.

But what we mean by education is something different. It
is a specialized part of life designed to help us find the mean-
ing of the whole. It usually consists of lessons, drills, activi-
ties, lectures, books, examinations, marks. Schools, colleges,
classes, libraries, correspondence courses are conducted to
furnish it to mankind. Now comes the radio, last and most
engaging daughter of the sciences. The schoolmaster catches
glimpses of himself instructing the millions. Sometimes he
has had the chance. But his pedagogical voice has been
drowned by the click of countless receiving-sets being turned
off.

So — the use of radio in education is a problem. Nobody
really has an idea how to go about this business. Nobody
cares much. The time is being satisfactorily taken up by
Benny Goodman and Ed Wynn. But consciences are uneasy.
We have an idea that something should be done.

I am in luck about the main point. Dr. Henry Pratt Fair-
child has given me my text. And Leonard Carlton, radio
editor of the New York Post,, has challenged me to cut loose
about it. All right. Here goes. Professor Fairchild was dis-
cussing the students of the University of the Air: ''Whether
it is possible, or even desirable to perfect devices for check-
ing on the progress of the students through examination, re-
ports, and papers ... is a matter for study and reflection."

I don't need to reflect for two seconds about this busi-
ness. Of course it's possible to perfect the devices of the
class-room for use over the air. We can even tell little Willie
to stand in the corner or give him permission to get a drink
of water. But who wants to? In the name of John Dewey and

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 2 05

Ichabod Crane, are our brains paralyzed? Here we have a
chance to start something big — and we just naturally putter
round with thoughts of little class-room stuff. Radio's job
is the education of cities, states, and nations of adults. The
test of accomplishment will be no meticulous examination
questions — acrobatic performances which show nothing but
the student's ability to jump through the pedagogical hoop.
There will be the tests of life. If the University of the Air
teaches citizenship to the people of New York, the test will
be New York's government. Cities that pass will have good
government — and will be marked A — not by the school-
master but by history. If we teach health, the test will be
the figures published by the Department of Health during
subsequent years. And when we get this thing going — listen,
Mr. Carlton — we'll give school boards and superintendents
something to think about. If we have sense enough not to
follow them, some of them may have enough sense to fol-
low us.

I would not advocate shooting all professional teachers.
They have their uses. Let's be fair. What I am getting at is
a very simple thing. Radio educators must make a fresh
start, a start from scratch. If we carry the class-room with
us to the studio, we are damned in advance.

I know that the radio has been used successfully as a sub-
stitute for the correspondence course — or as an adjunct to
it. Courses in Agriculture, in Foreign Languages, in Eco-
nomics have been given over the air. That may be all right
— for a few specialized stations. But it must always be a
limited thing. It is not what we are talking about. The big
job of radio in education must be done by new people in
a new way.

There are three great fields which are open to the inno-
vators— and only one of these has been cultivated sufficiently
so that we have more than an inkling of its possibilities.
These three fields are: i. The Fine Arts; 2. Public Affairs;

206 RAPE OF RADIO

3. General Intelligence. A University of the Air should have
these three departments. Its program for a given period
should do justice to all three. But — God forbid! — the an-
nouncers should never breathe a word to the customers
about departments. Life isn't divided into departments.
That is part of the old university machinery which we shall
be well rid of.

The one art which radio listeners have learned something
about is music. There are fellows whose appreciation never
rose above ''Sweet Adeline" who now ask for Mozart and
Brahms — and who know the numbers, recognize, distinguish,
discriminate. The program directors never thought of musical
programs as education. That is why they have done pretty
well in this field. I am leaving out of account the really swell
job done by Walter Damrosch and others in the field of
musical pedagogy. The symphony concerts — even with the
current awkward and mispronounced comments — have raised
the cultural level of the entire country. Programs of songs
have given infinite pleasure and have widened the musical
taste of millions far from concert halls. The few operas com-
posed for the air — what great possibilities there are in this
field.

In the field of drama we are just making a start — though
the progress made during the past season is enough to show
that there is practically no limit to future achievements.
Here there must be much experimentation. Without the
visible stage all the conditions become different. New plays
must be written for this medium, and the stage-plays must
be intelligently rewritten. We need a Shakespeare of the air.
In the fields of poetry and story-telling we have hardly made
a beginning. Yet radio seems just made for the cultivation
of these arts. We used to mourn over the loss suffered by
poetry and tale through enforced dependence on cold type.
Well — we can now have again the warm and flexible human
voice as our medium. The poet can speak again as Homer

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 2 07

spoke. It may mean a great revival. Freed from print, the
human spirit may soar anew.

The greatest of all fields for the University of the Air is
Public Affairs. The arts of citizenship can be taught only
tentatively and provisionally in school and college. What
little is given in the realm of Civics, Politics, and Economics
is so unreal that it hardly sticks. The radio teacher gets his
student in the midst of affairs — while he is making up his
mind how to vote, how to make his living, how to solve his
problems. His listener has the hottest possible motive for
taking seriously anyone who has help to offer. And what the
student receives can instantly be put to the touch of experi-
ence. He can build it into his life as he goes along. Here we
have the field lying wide open for the most realistic educa-
tion in the world.

And here, especially, we must cut loose from academic
notions. If the President gives a fireside chat, or Governor
Lehman addresses the citizens, or Louis Waldman discusses
the state constitution — that is education in the deepest sense.
People are learning what they need to know from the best
teachers — from the men who are in the midst of affairs. The
professional teacher is — at best — but a substitute for the
real thing. Men and women of action bring the learner in
direct contact with reality. Thus — while the so-called edu-
cational work of the broadcasting stations has been pretty
bad — a lot of good work has been done — and has not been
labeled education. Politicians, business executives, labor
leaders, professional men have done a first class job.

Then why not let well-enough alone? Because the field
has been by no means covered. Program directors should
ask themselves the question: "What do American citizens
need to know? What do they need to know in order to vote?
In order to find their way out of the depression? In order
to educate their children? In order to select their profes-
sions? In general — radio can give them the necessary in-

208 RAPE OF RADIO

sights into the community life — can give what college stu-
dents should get out of Economics, Sociology, History,
Politics. And the students will take it easily, vitally, from
people to whom they listen gladly.

This means that directors must have programs, ideas,
schemes. They must be ingenious in rinding men and women
who can put over the things which should be presented. If
they depend on professional teachers to put over a uni-
versity course, they will be defeated in advance. Suppose,
for example, that we want to teach Economics. We will not
outline a course beginning with Adam Smith. We will start
with the depression. Perhaps we will be even more realistic.
We will start with unemployment. We can get even closer
to the ground than that. We can start with the listeners of
one station who are unemployed. We will get the facts. Then
we will get the best men from trade unions, from the U. S.
Department of Labor, from the research bureaus. We will
get a picture of the situation from them. Then will come
human-interest writers to give their picture. The greatest
authors will be glad to help. Then will come the social engi-
neers to describe the working of our industrial system and to
tell just what happens as a depression goes on. Then we will
bring on the theorists and politicians, the New Deal men,
the conservatives, the Socialists, any distinguished man or
woman who has a right to be heard on the cause and cure
of depressions. Then will come the experts on special phases,
on child-labor, on unemployment insurance, on vocational
training and guidance, on purchasing power, wages, mar-
kets, profits. People will get the inside facts on this whole
business of economic living. We will not have a speaker
who is not an authority, not one to whom people will not
listen gladly. The addresses need not follow a prescribed
order. The sequence may be altered to follow the current of
events, or to bring in a speaker who is in the headlines. In

CAN A MIKE TEACH? 2C>g

the course of one season students can learn Economics more
vitally than most students ever learn it in college.

Radio developments during the past season prove that
people are hungering for what may be called general knowl-
edge. All of these questionnaires, in the magazines, all of
the question-and-answer periods on the radio, all of these
fool games that people play at parties — they prove some-
thing. A lot of people can get tired of being ignorant. They
want — at least — to have a little knowledge to show off with.
They can't take courses in physics or chemistry. But here
is this magic world. They are curious about radio, about
cosmic rays, about strange lands, about climates, jungles,
strange beasts. Consider how many tuned in on Admiral
Byrd when he was in the Antarctic. This thirst for knowledge
can be satisfied much better than the radio is even trying
to do it now. Here the popularizers may well be called in
to supplement the great scientists, inventors, explorers. In
the course of a year a program can swing pretty well round
the circle of the sciences.

I am conscious of the fact that in some of these fields we
are dealing with dynamite. The propagandist is always at
hand to give his own twist to the facts. The program builder
is in a position of public trust. If — in a field like Economics,
Medicine, or International Affairs — there are vital differences
of opinion, it is his business to hold the balance true, to see
that the listeners get a true picture. In the course of weeks
or months all important points of view must be presented.
Educational radio cannot accept the limits which seem to be
binding upon commercial radio. We shall not be trying to
sell the listener something. We shall be trying to give his
mind every chance to use the facts.

But — for the University of the Air — the one unforgivable
sin is dullness. It is wicked enough in all radio programs.
The great complaint which the American people have a
right to make against the current fare is that it is monoto-

21O RAPE OF RADIO

nous, unvaried, unimaginative, drab, unspiced, tasteless.
It has a good deal of artificial snappiness, but not much real
verve. It lacks — especially — humor. Men who are funny as
Mark Twain or Bill Nye at a party become drab as village
parsons the moment they face the microphone. To explain
this curious fact in a nation that would sell its soul for
smartness we would have to go too far back in the psychology
of this business. All that I can say now is that the University
of the Air must break away from the tradition of dullness.
It must speak with a genuine and human voice, with the
lively accents of real life. Reality must flow out over the
waves sharply, quickly, vividly. The minute a speaker grows
dull he must be shot. The crack of the revolver ringing out
of the receiving sets will serve as a guarantee to customers
that they can learn without being bored to death. Thus radio
will make a supreme contribution to educational theory and
practice.

8

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH
UNFUNNY PEOPLE

FROM time to time critics have predicted that the ether
clown would sound his own death knell on the air. No
such obsequies have come to pass. Today entrenched before
the microphone, the radio comedian sits securely on his
sponsored throne.

Test the comedian's power by his high-bracket income.
Jack Benny, in 1937, signed a three year non-cancellable
contract involving close to three million dollars. According
to Walter Winchell, Bob Burns' income in 1935, before he
won acclaim on the air, was exactly three thousand seven
hundred dollars. By 1937, Burns' income was over four
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Eddie Cantor topped
them all with sixteen thousand five hundred dollars per
broadcast.

Let us cast a glance backward at the reason for the rise
of the comedian. Radio comedy owes more to the late David
Freedman than to any other writer. He was the alchemist of
wit who popularized the method of compounding jokes
drawn from huge files. He knew more jokes than any other
man of his time and constantly refreshed his memory from
a working stock of nearly seventy-five thousand. He became
the first "write-hand" man of Eddie Cantor when the goggle-
eyed comedian first went on the air in 1931. Until the time
of his death in 1937, Freedman was the most prolific com-
piler and writer of radio skits, regularly supplying the comic
pabulum of Cantor, George Givot, Joe Cook, Helen Men-
ken, Block and Sully, Jimmy Durante and scores of others.

Freedman made the first attempt to give radio comedy

211

212 RAPE OF RADIO

form and structure. He was the first to prophesy that there
would come about a famine in gags, the first to seek an ap-
proach to humor in the events of the day. He died while in
the midst of a lawsuit which asked for a verdict of two hun-
dred and fifty thousand dollars for jokes, gags and dialogue
which he had furnished Cantor for programs over a period
of years.

Freedman's skill in adapting sound and sense is instanced
in this specimen of dialogue produced for Eddie Cantor, en-
titled, "When you lose at Bridge — and When you Win":

Cantor: I'm going to give you my impression of a husband
and wife coming home after losing at bridge. (Music — Three
O'Clock in the Morning.)

Wife: You're gonna drive me out of my mind.

Cantor: That's no drive — that's a putt.

Wife: You're so bright they named a town after you —
Marblehead.

Cantor: You're such a good card player they named a
game after you — Rummy. (Crash of milk bottles.) Did you
put those bottles in front of the door so I'd break my neck?

Wife: No, but it's a good idea. You're sore because we
lost at bridge.

Cantor: I'm not. I'm sore because your mother came to
spend a week-end and has been here for a year and a half.
I'm sore because you gave me a veal chop that sprained
my jaw.

Wife: Why, whatever I cook I put my heart into.

Cantor: No wonder it was tough as steel. (Baby cries.)

Wife: Now you woke up the baby.

Cantor: What's he always hollering about?

Wife: He's teething.

Cantor: Teething? What does he need teeth for at his age?

Mother: What's that racket?

Cantor: What's your mother hollering about — she teeth-
ing too?

Wife: Mother's been nursing a grouch for two weeks.

Cantor: I didn't know your father was sick. Listen, I'm
hungry. What happened to that roast duck in the icebox?

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 213

Wife: Mother ate it. She's so fond of duck she'd give half
her life for one.

Cantor: Oh Yeah? Tomorrow night, I'll bring two!

Cantor: Now I'll show you what happens when the same
couple wins at bridge.

Cantor: Good old sweet home! Let me open the door for
you, Toodles.

(Happy laughter)

Wife: Oh, did you hurt yourself, dearest?

Cantor: No, Poopsy. Gee, it was awfully sweet of your
Mother to come and mind the baby.

Wife: Darling, you're so sweet when you win at bridge.

Cantor: Why Snooksy, I'm the same whether I win or
lose. I'm just happy because I'm married to the loveliest
little wifey in the world.

(Baby cries)

Cantor: Oh, I woke up the baby. What a shame. How is
the little angel?

Wife: He's teething.

Cantor: Poor little man! But won't we be proud of his
first little toothy-woothy?

Mother: Is that you, Tessie?

Cantor: Your dear darling mother is up. Mother, Tessie
played divinely.

Wife: No, mother. It was Eddie who played like a master.

Cantor: No, Lovey-ducky, it was you. When you played
that Kingy-wingy on the Jack-wacky and won the tricky-
wicky, we made a grand slammy-wammy and that won the
gamey-wamey for us, sugar pie. Look, honey, I'm hungry.
Is there anything to eat in the housey-wousey? What about
that nice roast ducky-wucky?

Wife: Mother ate it.

Cantor: Oh, she ate it, huh? Didn't she leave me a teeny-
wingy?

Wife: You know how mother loves roast ducky. She'd
give half her life for one.

Cantor: Oh, Yeah? Then tomorrow night I'll STILL
bring two ducky-wuckies.

214 RAPE OF RADIO

The writer of radio comedy is loath to admit his leaning
on Joe Miller who, if not an "original" punster, at least sup-
plied the spirit and the method of the wisecrack.

Joe Miller, long dead, may never have cracked a pun in
his life. When he passed away on August 16, 1738, he was
but an obscure actor who played small roles such as the First
Grave Digger in Hamlet. A "lamentable friend and former
companion," as he describes himself, one Elijah Jenkins,
Jr., saved Miller from oblivion. He made arrangements with
a London publisher to print a seventy-two page book under
the title "Joe Miller's Jests, or the Wit's Vade-Mecum."
Being a collection of the most elegant bon mots and the most
pleasant short stories in the English language, first carefully
collected in the company and many of them transcribed from
the mouth of the facetious gentleman whose name they
bear. . . ."

The volume, successively issued over the centuries, con-
tains a typical classic quip of the man who saw people sneak-
ing out of church and remarked, "The minister is giving
us a moving discourse." And again, the smart protest which
has a modern flavor, "He couldn't have died insolvent, be-
cause he died in England."

The New Comic Glossary

The comic writer plays safe and respects tradition. He col-
lects, revamps, reinterprets, readapts the seven basic jokes
that have been allocated to mankind. He must make the old
joke taste savory. He lards the joke with current reference,
and then bakes it under the comic heat. When all the wrap-
pings and trimmings are plucked away, the new joke is the
old joke over again.

The pilfering from ancient joke files has been prodigious.
The quality of greatness in a radio comedian is to put his
"steal" of approval on a joke and so disguise it that someone

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 215

else will steal it. Bob Burns uses a lot of revamped Joe
Miller jokes, and once told Dinty Doyle that he has been
telling the same yarns for ten years and that he hopes to con-
tinue for ten more. A joke that is so old that it is forgotten
is automatically regarded as "new." Fortunately, we quickly
forget. We come upon the same incident time and time again
and barely recognize it. We forget what made us laugh and
somehow look to the system of ideas that the comedian is
using for the moment.

A brief glossary must include the idiom devised by Dave
Freedman: A "technocrat" is a great gag that cannot be
fitted into a script; a "dragola" is an off-color joke; a "buf-
faroo" is a powerful gag almost sure to evoke a belly laugh;
a "weakie" is a feeble jest that goes in a script until a better
one is found; "ti ti mi tita" is a sophisticated Park Avenue
gag; a "hup cha de bup cha" is a sure-fire laugh; "dyna-
mite" is material that can't miss.

New additions to radio's joke vocabulary are constantly
born. Certain jokes are called "cheaters." A "cheater" is a
joke written into the script but omitted during rehearsal
in front of the orchestra. By holding it back until the broad-
cast, the musicians are surprised, laugh very heartily, and
the comedian gets the support of fresh loud laughter close
to the microphone. The "running gag" is a hangover from
vaudeville and burlesque. The same joke recurs persistently
in each of a series of comic sketches. From week to week
the comedian refers to some physical characteristic or per-
sonal trait of a member of the cast. Jack Benny kept wise-
cracking weekly regarding the spats worn by Don Bestor,
his orchestra leader, and Gracie Allen made continual quips
about Jack Renard's "tummy."

dnce A-Pun a Time

From its inception, radio comedy consisted mainly of
straight monologues or dialogues. A dozen or more puns

2l6 RAPE OF RADIO

and gags were the comedian's stock in trade. The comedian
entered wholly into alliance with his joke books, and was
equipped to start on his merry-go-round.

The simplest form of humor is the pun, which is a play
on words. The play on words is endless, and is common to all
languages. The technique consists of directing attention to
the sound of the words rather than to the sense of the word.
Through similarity in sound, words are twisted out of their
original meaning; one word is made to do the duty of two
words. It all seems so easy and senseless, yet the world laughs
at such things as this:

Jimmy: Say, Eddie, did you ever make any money out of
that chicken ranch of yours? Eddie: Oh, just a few poultry
dollars.

Or, such a notion as was heard on a Georgie Price Ama-
teur Comedy Writers Program in 1937, the script about
Louis and Farr: Question: "Did you ever box?" Answer:
"Yes, I used to box oranges."

The gag is generally based on exaggeration upwards or
downwards. Things are enlarged to grotesque proportions
or dwarfed until they seem ridiculous. We are offered a new
and surprising pattern of life to which we are unaccustomed.
Men do not put acetylene torches to help one light a ciga-
rette, as does Groucho, nor do women powder their faces
with marshmallow as Schnozzle Durante would have us
believe.

The listener, who sees the true relation of things, is tricked
into laughter by the attempt at hoodwinking his senses. If
the gag achieves this triumph, it is a "good" gag, though it
bears the mark of antiquity. In 1931 every radio comedian
was following the "straight" routine. This consisted of line
for line business. Jimmy Wallington would feed Cantor the
"straight" line and Cantor would snap back with the punch
line. A series of gags was hooked together without any par-
ticular system or continuity, or, like Ed Wynn's early "opera

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 2 17

programs," were nothing more than gag monologues. No
matter what pattern comedy takes on, the despised gag still
holds forth lustily. Fred Allen claims that in this decade the
radio comic has risen from "gags to riches." However skil-
fully disguised, always there must be the funny line.

Mort Lewis, who wrote comedy scripts for Ed Wynn, Ben
Bernie, Burns and Allen, maintains that the gag is not going
out of style. "The gag," he says, "is still the backbone of
nine-tenths of radio comedy. And that goes for Benny, Baker,
Cantor, Wynn or Pic and Pat. Unless you're a mimic or a
dialect slinger, it's the gag that pays off. As for the gag man
becoming extinct because most comics are writing their own
material today — that's bunk. Most of the radio comics can't
write. Even those who do, for the most part, require as-
sistance. And they'll continue to require it, script writing
being the high pressure racket that it is."

The Comedy of Situation

Comedy on the air was compelled to seek new techniques
in order to escape annihilation. The formula of a string of
he-and-she jokes had become decrepit. A new schemata was
devised, a new framework which has been termed the com-
edy of "situation." Every variety of episode offers grist for
the comedian's mill. The theory is that the comedian could
never run out of jokes if he clung to human situations, and
topical events. The world keeps moving. The comic is
squeezed out of any scene: A domestic squabble in the
kitchen, a visit to the World's Fair, or to the circus, high
jinks at the opera, at the race track, or wherever you are.
The dialogue creates a definite picture of the locale and
gives a swift impression of the situation involved.

In vaudeville, the jokes were built up on front of a drop
that helped establish the locale — say Times Square, Main
Street, or a woodland retreat. The radio comedy of "situa-

2l8 RAPE OF RADIO

tion" makes its locale quite as definite. A brief twenty
words or so gives the listener the setting and the locale. The
dialogue is brisk and involves heckling the comedian by
all the performers. Every phase of the situation exposes a
human failing open to smart interchange of the quip. Such
a treatment of comedy demands an informal style. Here is
where the skill of the writer must remove all traces of the
mechanical unfolding of a joke. In the Burns and Allen
episodes the effect is that of "nut" comedy, and repartee
seems to flow from the situation without effort.

Eddie Cantor started his radio career with a recital of
funny stories. For a long time he remained the disciple of
old gags coddled into being by a straight man or a dialect
stooge. In January 1938, he began to pattern his program
after the informal conversational style of Jack Benny. Occa-
sionally he makes an abrupt switch back to his old habit of
using straight men and stooges. It is the spirit of Eddie
Cantor that pervades each of his programs and, though his
material is quite the same, he surrounded himself with a
whole set of familiar people — Parkyakarkus, Jimmie Wal-
lington, Bobbie Breen, the mad Russian, each of whom
represented a distinct personality.

Eddie Cantor's change in style is quite noticeable. He is
leaning toward the Jack Benny style; shows three significant
changes of method in getting across: i. He speaks a little
more casually. 2. He does not utter his punch lines with the
same yell as heretofore, and generally subdues the emphasis
on climaxes. 3. He escapes from the routine of feed-line
jokes.

Jack Benny — Radio's Funnyman No. i

The most successful exponent of "informal" comedy is
Benjamin Kubelsky, renamed Jack Benny, who was born in
Waukegan, Illinois. His style deserves study.

Aside from Franklin D. Roosevelt, Benny, forty-six year

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 21Q

old Funny Man, is regarded as the biggest voice in radio.
With a Crossley rating of 42.4, an estimated audience of
eleven million families gives him ear every week. He is
aided and abetted by his wife and former vaudeville partner,
Mary Livingstone. He plays a timorous and boastful charac-
ter to the delight of an audience that understands.

Since 1934, he has held his place as America's Funnyman
No. i, and ace salesman of the air outranked in popularity
only by Charlie McCarthy. At a cost of twelve thousand
dollars a week for personal salary, and at an additional ex-
pense of fifteen thousand dollars for time and co-talent, his
sponsors regard him as perfect investment in entertainment.
For, with Benny at the comedian's helm for the past four
years, the Good Ship Business rides straight to port, and
brings home General Foods.

Benny reached radio by way of the vaudeville stage on
which he was not a great sensation. He did a monologue and
kidded his audience with punch lines while toying with a
big cigar and a fiddle which he did not play. Encouraged
to apply for an audition, he got together a string of jokes
and was impressed into radio by General Tires in 1932.
Canada Dry and Chevrolet successively sponsored him until
Jell-O claimed him in 1934.

Harry Conn is responsible for many of the prevailing
methods of informal comedy. He wrote nearly two hundred
and fifty shows for Jack Benny and originated the notion
of involving the whole cast in the act. He was the first to
write travesties on literary classics. He can take credit for
making it possible for Jack Benny's wife to become the
comedienne. One of Conn's scripts called for an extra part,
and Benny induced his wife to play the role under the name
of Mary Livingstone.

Like most writers of radio comedy, Conn's versatility did
not last, and when he essayed a comedy role on the air
himself, he proved to be a failure. Moral: Comedian, stick
to your last!

220 RAPE OF RADIO

First Principles of "Informality"

The following principles guide the writing and produc-
tion of "informal" comedy:

1. The aim is to take any experience or situation and de-
velop it with the hearty exchange of little quips and puns.
The listener is led on to successive ludicrous surprises, with-
out any attempt to trouble the intellect.

2. To unify the "situation," members of the cast are in-
cluded in the "plot." Benny is verbally torn to shreds by his
associates and is led into a debacle from which there is no
escape except in the inevitable laugh. The pattern of the
comedy is the "skit" or pure farce.

3. The dialogue (a) sets the scene; (b) lends picture effects;
(c) vivifies the situation; and (d) provides those descriptive
touches which instantly provoke the imagination.

4. Benny is the target for most of the jokes, and so his
mild and ineffectual protests and explanations make him the
object of sympathy.

The formula calls for the use of "eye and ear" gags rather
than what might be termed "ear" gags. "Ear" gags cause a
laugh because of double meanings or some distortion in
sound. The "ear and eye" gags involve a swift logic of situa-
tions which enables the listener to picture the scene, give
a fleeting glance backwards and enrich the whole concept
of the relationship of the characters.

The comedy of "situation" involves a slower unfolding of
the joke without impeding the speed of the action. A certain
groundwork must be established to ensure the "picture."
Repetitions and timing are part of the success. Instead of
striking the ear as a "plant," the joke flows intimately from
the situation and appears to be a logical part of the pattern.
The gags are never an end in themselves. If the listener sus-
pects the gags have been forced to fit the situation, the de-
vice would destroy the "natural" scheme of things.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 221

Commercials are placed in the script so that they seem an
integral part of the comics. When Benny counters with Don
Wilson, the announcer, the sales message becomes the pre-
text for banter that elevates the laughing spirit with Jell-O
and its six flavors.

The Coming of the Stooge

The history of the radio stooge is wrapped in controversy.
There are many claimants for first honor of inducting the
stooge on the air.

S. J. Kaufman, in the Drama Mailbag of the New York
Times, casts enlightenment on the development of the
stooge. He turns to the days of early vaudeville when teams
got their laughs when one of them twisted and tortured the
English language. "The twister was the comedian," says
Kaufman. "The other talked 'straight' and in the trade was
called a 'straight man.' It was the duty of the straight man to
feed the comic in such a way that the laughs were certain
and definite. The straight man of old vaudeville days now
has the radio name of 'stooge'."

The "straight man" or "stooge" ordinarily would be the
one who did not get the laughs. Today the comedian snares
the laughs. The peculiar development of radio comedy often
makes the comedian "straight" man for his stooge. Kaufman
sets this test for deciding which one of the team is the comic:
"The one who is abused is the comic." Thus, when Al Jol-
son clowns with Parkyakarkus and acts as "straight" man for
Martha Raye, his status as comedian varies with the nature
of the treatment accorded him by his partners.

Originally the stooge was planted in the audience for the
special purpose of doing his best to heckle the performer on
the stage. For many years Phil Baker's act in vaudeville in-
cluded a stooge who sat in a box and constantly interrupted
his efforts on the stage. Baker discovered that the audience

222 RAPE OF RADIO

sympathized with the heckler and gave the interrupter the
greatest amount of applause. The heckler was soon intro-
duced to radio in the person of a stooge whose malevolent
voice broke in on the program with the command: "Get off
the air!" at which Baker sprang to the defense: "Pay no at-
tention to that scorpion!"

Today, surrounded by satellites who have full freedom
to heckle, the comedian makes humor out of human situa-
tions. Fred Allen, in his early routine, packed Town Hall
with a group of annoyers; Gracie Allen used as her foil the
orchestra leader, Jacques Renard, and the announcer, Ted
Husing; and Bob Hope provided a feminine stooge in the
person of Honey Chile.

The radio stooge is coming into his own. The old-fash-
ioned stage comedian used to abuse his stooge by knocking
him on the head with a bladder. The radio comedian has
altered this tradition. Today the stooge has his comeback of
free speech and the right of self-defense. He has risen in
popularity because the listener finds in him a champion
and a spokesman against grievances and abuses under which
the listener ordinarily is compelled to remain silent. The
stooge is thus the vicarious master of words that sting and
provoke. He picks up the gauntlet and flings it at his tor-
mentor. He becomes the supreme heckler who shows up the
foibles of one who pretends to be his master.

The radio comedian who knows showmanship no longer
monopolizes all the smart lines by making his stooge a me-
chanical feeder. It was Cantor's intention to develop Rubi-
noff into a stooge, but the violinst was sensitive about his
thick Russian dialect, and Wallington fell heir to the job
in "straight" talk, Rubinoff remaining a silent stooge. Can-
tor ascribes his own success to his willingness to become the
recipient of his stooge's sting. He advises: "I could take his
lines, but I don't want to. Why? Because when he heckles
me, I'm the under-dog. If we reverse the situation, I'm on

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 223

top, and the listeners resent me. They don't like the wise

It is claimed that Groucho and Chico Marx were the first
to use the stooge in radio comedy style. They stumbled on
the broadcast formula in 1933. The practice of Groucho was
to heckle Chico. As a result, the under-dog commanded the
sympathy of hosts of listeners. Chico was getting ninety per
cent of the fan mail and applause.

The success of the single stooge soon provided the in-
spiration for programs with multiple stooges. The stooge
progeny has become prolific. Writers are called upon to
create hecklers, and the obscure stooge was endowed with
distinct character. The stooge is often given dialect to add
to his stock-in-trade, and to identify his peculiarities.

The very success of the comedian is due to the mock de-
fiance of the persuasive stooges that surround him. "This
business of being funny on the air has gone beyond the
talents of any two performers," says George Burns. "The
clown on the air today is like a baseball pitcher; he merely
hurls and curves the ball across the plate. He needs plenty
of team-play and support."

Framing the Comedian

The tendency today is to unify the comedian's efforts
about some framework or central theme. This framework
is a sort of main trunk with spreading branches to which the
gags may be attached. Phil Baker edits a newspaper; Jack
Oakie assumes the presidency of Oakie College; Stoopnagle
and Budd become "inventors" who conceived such fantastic
devices as wigs with hair that stands on end for bald men
reading mystery stories.

The comic writer is at his wits' end for some theme which
will bear serial repetition and at the same time be entirely
refreshed at each performance. Once the background is es-

224 RAPE OF RADIO

tablished, the routine is more easily understood and more
eagerly followed by the listeners. Sometimes the "situation"
seems forced, as was Eddie Cantor's effort to squeeze humor
out of an interview with an engaged couple each week. The
bride-and-groom-to-be were presented with a check of one
hundred dollars for their appearance. They deserved it.

The framework of the comedian changes from time to
time. Fred Allen uses a variety of basic situations: (i) "Town
Hall News, Sees Nothing, Tells All"; (2) Interviews with
The Man You Did Not Expect to Meet, a comic appraisal of
the work of extraordinary personalities unearthed by Uncle
Jim Hawkins, assistant to Allen; (3) the Portland spot; (4)
Fantastic burlesque sketches by the Mighty Allen Art
Players.

During 1937, Ed Wynn introduced the style not only of
introducing guest stars, but making them allies in his com-
edy scheme. The comedy develops from the absurdity of
Wynn playing opposite a noted Ophelia, or attempting a
duet with a musical artist, either vocally or instrumentally.
It is almost an insult to true artistry, to make a great artist
become the foil of Wynn's wit, but dignity descends to
comedy. And a singer permits herself to be interrupted in
the middle of an aria while Ed soars into the comic ether
with lisping ecstasy. The scheme might be termed a species
of subdued burlesque, which would defeat its purpose in
inexpert hands.

The standard radio style is to alternate band and comedy.
Some critics claim both elements do not really belong to-
gether. "The comedian," says Alton Cook, "tries his best to
get an audience into a high spirited whoopee mood. Then
comes the band leader who wants to play a ballad and change
the whole spirit of the program. If he succeeds, the comedian
has difficulty in getting audience attention for his second
spot."

To establish and hold the proper mood, the band should

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 225

play atmospheric music. Some comedians attempt a liaison
between the comic and the music by giving cues to the
band leader. "Play Don!" says Jack Benny to Don Bestor,
and the band plays on.

The Radio Family

To create the feeling of ease, smoothness, and naturalness,
it became necessary to create an entire radio "family" whose
dissensions made them stand out as familiar characters with
the radio audience.

As distinguished from the variety show, the unit comedy
program devised by Conn generally follows this routine: (i)
The comedian exchanged insults with the announcer; (2) the
various stooges, including the orchestra leader, insult the
comedian; (3) topical material treated in a comic light;
(4) a sketch with high-pressure comedy effects.

Relatives indeed come in mighty handy on the air. They
have furnished many comedians with the major portion of
their programs. Each week brings a peep into the private
lives and intimacies of real or mythical kinsmen. Listeners
react as if they knew each member personally. Bob Burns
built almost his entire routine around his Arkansas kin.
Burns' uncle furnishes him with his best wisecracks: "My
uncle is so tough, he filled an enemy so full of lead that when
he sat down he made marks like a lead pencil." As to his
aunt: "Aunt Peachey has no more meat on her than a vege-
tarian's vest."

Eddie Cantor, of course, always mentions Ida and his
daughters. Most listeners would recognize Gracie Allen's
"brother" if they met him on the street, and Ed Wynn would
be at a loss without his "uncle." It is our sympathy with
these characters that is the secret of humor. Their trials and
habits become as familiar to us as if they were constantly
at our side.

226 RAPE OF RADIO

The radio form of the pseudo feud between musicians
and comedians was first introduced by Eddie Cantor's razz-
ing of RubinofL Another phase of the feud exists between
fellow comedians on rival programs, as when Fred Allen
challenged Jack Benny to play a virtuoso selection on the
violin.

Feuds come and go. Some are real, however. Kate Smith
didn't like the way Eddie Cantor teased her about her avoir-
dupois when he was on the Chase and Sanborn Hour. Kate
resented his continuous harping on this theme as question-
able taste. Nearly all the feuds are based upon similar cause.
An open rupture begins when rival stars steal from each
other some professional trick or style or program method
such as a peculiar voice or dialect.

The Feud Reaches Its Climax

(The Jack Benny Show moved to New York. Fred Allen
was already broadcasting from that city. The following Sun-
day night, during the Benny broadcast, there is a loud
knock.)

Mary: Come in.

All: Why, it's Fred Allen.

Benny: Well, as I live and regret there are no locks on
studio doors, if it isn't Boo Allen. Now listen, Allen, what's
the idea of breaking in here in the middle of my singing?

Allen: Singing? Well, I didn't mind when you scraped
that bow over my suitcase and called it "The Bee," but when
you set that croup to music and call it singing . . . Benny,
you've gone too far.

Benny: Now, look here, Allen, I don't care what you say
about my violin-playing on your own program, but when
you come up here, be careful. After all, I've got listeners.

Allen: Keep your family out of this.

Benny: Well, my family likes my singing and my violin-
playing too.

Allen: Your violin-playing! Why, I just heard that a horse

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 227

committed suicide when he found your violin bow was made
from his tail.

Benny: Hm. Well, listen to me, you Wednesday night
hawk, another crack like that and Town Hall will be look-
ing for a new janitor. How did you get in here without a
pass?

Allen: I made one at the doorman and you're next.

Benny: Oh I am, eh?

Allen: Listen, cowboy, why didn't you stay out in Holly-
wood where you didn't belong?

Benny: Because I heard you were coming out there to
make a picture, that's why.

Allen: Well, I saw your last picture, and maybe you didn't
start bank night, but you certainly kept it going.

Benny: Oh yeah? Well, three states are waiting for your
picture to be released. They're going to use it instead of
capital punishment. Wow! Where are you going to live in
Hollywood, Mr. Allen? At the ostrich farm?

Allen: I may.

Livingstone: (Starts to laugh loudly.)

Benny: What are you laughing at, Mary?

Livingstone: He'll show those birds how to lay eggs.

Benny: Mary, that was marvelous. I'm going to kiss you
for that.

Livingstone: Then I take it back.

Benny: Oh, you do!

Allen: She'd rather kiss an ostrich and so would I.

Benny: Well, Allen, that's going a little too far. When you
make that kind of remark it means fight where I came from.

Allen: You mean your blood would boil if you had any?

Benny: Yes, and I've got just enough to resent that. If
you'll step out into the hallway I'm ready to settle this affair,
man to man.

Allen: All right, I'll knock you flatter than the part of this
program I wasn't on.

Livingstone: Hold on there, Allen, who touches a hair
on Jack's gray head has to find it first.

Benny: Never mind that. Come on, Allen, let us away.
(Muttering) Hm, I'm sorry now I sold my rowing machine.
(The two stamp out. There is long, suspense-filled silence.

228 RAPE OF RADIO

Then we hear heavy footsteps approaching, the door opens
and Jack and Fred enter — laughing.)

Benny: Ha, Ha, Ha. Gosh, Freddie, those were the days,
weren't they?

Allen: Yes, sir! Remember that time in Toledo when you
walked in the magician's dressing-room and stole his pigeons?

Benny: Do I? They tasted pretty good, didn't they,
Freddie?

Allen: You said it, Jack.

Benny: We didn't make much money in those days,
Freddie, but we did get a lot of laughs.

Allen: We certainly did until we walked on the stage.
(They both laugh again.)

Livingstone: Jack, what happened to the fight?

Benny: What fight? Say, Freddie, remember that time in
South Bend, Indiana?

Phil Harris: No kidding, fellows, what happened to that
fight?

Benny: Why, Phil, we were never serious about that.

Livingstone: Then how'd you get that black eye?

Benny: Oh, this? Well, I was just writing a letter.

Allen: And I dotted his eye.

Benny: Now wait a minute, Freddie. I slapped you more
than you did me. Look at your wrists. They're all red.

Allen: Well, I made you say "Uncle" when I pulled your
hair.

Benny: Uncle isn't the word, but let it go.

Livingstone: Well, I'll be darned! After what you guys
said about each other.

Allen: Listen, Jack's the whitest guy I know.

Don Wilson: But you said he was anemic.

Allen: Listen! Don't let anyone tell you Jackie Benny's
anemic. He stays white on purpose just so everybody else
will look healthy. Don't you, Jackie boy?

Benny: I sure do, Freddie.

Phil Harris: But you said he had so little hair he sprinkled
popcorn on his shoulders for false dandruff. You even said
he was stingy.

Allen: Jack Benny stingy? Why, his heart is so big you can
put a stethoscope on him any place and get action.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 2 20

Don Wilson: Say, Fred, here's a package you dropped on
your way out to the hall.

Allen: Oh yes, that's a box of candy I was going to give
Jack.

Livingstone: Candy! Can I have a piece?

Allen: Sure, but take the square ones, Mary, they're not
poison.

Benny: Hm, I see. By the way, Freddie, when you get
home if that box of flowers I sent you is still ticking, just
put it in water.

Allen: I will. Thanks for the tip.

Livingstone: Gee, this candy is swell. What's it filled with,
Fred?

Allen: Ipana.

Benny: Oh well, she was going to brush her teeth anyway.

Allen: For that I'm going to brush mine with Jell-O.

Benny: Why don't you have them put Ipana out in six
delicious flavors?

Allen: That's a great idea, but I have to go now.

Benny: O.K., Freddie, thanks for your kind visit and
apology?

Allen: What apology?

Benny: Never mind, let's not start that again.

Allen: By the way, Mr. Harris.

Phil Harris: Yes, Fred?

Allen: You lay off my pal, Jack Benny. That's all. Good-
bye everybody.

Benny: So long, Freddie. (Fred goes.) Play, Harris. And
watch your step. You heard what Freddie said!

Phil Harris: Why, you sawed off little punk! I'll take you
and tear you limb from limb.

Benny: Oh, Freddie — Freddie — Freddie — Freddie!

Fitfully, the feud continues. Wednesdays and Sundays
give each comedian an opportunity to fan the flames higher.
For most listeners, though, the night Fred Allen walked into
the Benny show remains just about their best broadcast.

230 RAPE OF RADIO

Touching the Heart Strings

Some of the best comedy on the air strikes the more seri-
ous note. Many comedians endeavor to touch the heart
strings and make a tear flow along with the laugh. This fol-
lows the dictum of Aristotle, that it is the business of com-
edy to lay bare the vices in all its shapes, so that cowardice,
vanity, thieving, gluttony, conceit and the like may be
exposed.

The sympathies that the comedian creates are sometimes
indefinable. The appeal is built up by a character, a per-
sonality who, for better or for worse, and many times for
worse, all the world loves. The most popular of all comic
radio characters is the sap, the under-dog. In the movies he
is epitomized by Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd. On the
air the crowning male example is Ed Wynn, the perfect
fool; the female version, Gracie in Blunderland.

It is the aim of the comedian to create characters that are
at once odd and lovable. This explains the willful imbecility
of the late Joe Penner, the lying propensity of Jack Pearl,
the comic cantoring of Eddie Cantor. Their queer responses
to life, we may thoroughly disapprove, but always contempt
is balanced by affection. In the end we surrender to the
laugh, grateful for their entertainment, even though they
leave us with a sense of frustration.

Sentimentality plays a large part in a comedian's offering.
Radio insisted that Al Jolson stick to his sentimentality. For
this reason, his rise in radio was slow. Eddie Cantor offers
no apology for indulging in a forced pathos and a rudi-
mentary philosophy. With a woman's intuition, Nina Wilcox
Putnam, the novelist, says in his support:

"I think that Eddie is miles ahead of any other star on
the humorous air. You see, his jokes are not only funny, but
they are sensible. Behind all his humor is a genuine philos-

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 231

ophy. You not only laugh at what he says, but under your
breath you instinctively comment, 'By gosh, that's truel' '

An overwrought sentimentality is dangerous to the average
comedian. Such themes as mother love, heroism, self-sacri-
fice, sympathy for animals and the down-trodden, when in-
troduced to comedy must be handled without overdoing the
maudlin. Cantor espouses a hundred causes, — camps for kids,
scholarships and the like. Occasionally he employs an effec-
tive slogan, such as a plea for careful driving: "Drive slowly.
We love our children."

In many teams the male monopolized the snapper line
and the joke exploded around the woman. Many listeners
resent the humiliation of the woman at the hands of a man,
even in comedy. Burns, as the partner-husband, may be out-
raged by Gracie's inanities, but he is always tolerant and
patient. He is the pattern of the smooth lad who holds the
admiration of the audience of women. Because of this ability
to create universal types, George Burns and Gracie Allen
enjoy the unique distinction of having the act translated
into French every week. The scripts are broadcast there by
a French couple. "Grace et Georges" get three hundred
dollars a week in royalty for that.

Burns employs a battery of from three to four writers
who, while engaged on any one program, never see each
other. The next task is to select the choicest morsels from
each product. The gags are assembled and Burns makes sure
that every line of repartee, no matter how familiar, is in
complete harmony with Gracie's character. She never says
a word that is unbecoming to the world's greatest nitwit. She
is not consciously the witty lady handing out smart lines,
or thumbing her nose at men, but shines as a lovable
character.

It is important in comedy to create a type. Bob Hope uses
as a stooge a dumb girl, always Honey Chile on the radio.

RAPE OF RADIO

Women find her amusing because she makes them feel so
much smarter by comparison.

What Gracie Allen says is peculiarly absurd and we know
that she is going to say something absurd. We never really
admire her traits and, in fact, may actually resent them.
But our opposition is broken down by the rush of the de-
lightfully ridiculous, and we find ourselves laughing willy-
nilly. Paul Douglas, the announcer, once said boastingly over
the air: "George and Gracie have taken pains to prove that
some people can live without brains." Such is the essence
of a great art, and it is no wonder that Gracie has been
voted by the students of the University of California the
most intelligent actress in America.

Much of the laughter which mankind has enjoyed is the
joke pointed at women and marriage. Gracie Allen's House-
wives' League had as it principal plank: "All men are born
free and equal, but wives are changing that."

Her silly blurbs often carry the sharpest sting. "Oh!" she
cries out, "I always say if a man wants to break himself of
the habit of forging checks, he should make sure when he
gets up in the morning to fill his fountain pen with water."

Shall It Be the Comic Monologue?

Apart from those who essay dramatic character mono-
logues, as does Miss Cornelia Otis Skinner, the comedian
who stands before the microphone alone has a difficult time
of it on the air. There is scarcely anyone except Will Rogers
who has achieved distinction working alone. It is too much
of a virtuoso stunt to do a thirty-minute program alone
Frank Fay's solo attempt in the role of a worldly gentleman
proved to be a struggle to amuse, in spite of his singing
offered as relief to his leisurely comments.

The shining examplar of the monologue today is Bob
Burns who was aired into national prominence, aided by his

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 233

bazooka. Not only did he achieve personal fame, but he
helped put his home town prominently on the map. The
official stationery of the city of his nativity states simply:
"Tom English, Mayor of Bob Burns' Home Town, Van
Buren, Arkansas." In a manner that suggested Will Rogers,
Bob Burns clung to his native idiom, weaving his yarns
about his folk in Arkansas. He is the essence of colloquial-
ism— his easy-going dry and resonant drawl captures the ear
because the manner in unforced. In the following situation
he confides to Bing Crosby and to listeners everywhere:

"You know, Bing, all my kinfolks down there in Van
Buren ain't like me. I talk a whole lot — I know that, but
most of my folks are very quiet and peaceful. I know one
time I was comin' home from a trip and standin' in the
woods, quite a way from the house, I saw my uncle standin'
out there and I says, 'What are ya doin'?'

And he says: "Nothin'."

And I says: "Are ya huntin'?"

And he says: "No."

And I says: "It's gittin' dark — it's time to git in the
house."

And he says: "Yes."

/ says: "Come on and go in with me."

And he says: "No."

And so I says: "Well, dinner'll be ready pretty soon — ain't
ya hungry?"

And he said: "Yes."

"And so I started on towards the house and went about half
a mile and I went back and I says: "Come on and go home
with me!"

And he says: "No."

And I says: "Why?"

And he said: "I can't," he says. "I'm standin' in a bear
trap!"

The radio monologuist remains in peculiar need of a
studio audience. Bob Hope, in an interview in the New York

234 RAPE OF RADIO

Sun, claims that without a studio audience the monologuist
is helpless to react to mood or to gauge studio laughs. "My
solo bits are patterned exactly after my stage style," he says.
"True to vaudeville formula, I attempt to make my topics
breezy and seasonal."

The fault of the monologuist generally lies in his ma-
terial. Writing a program of jokes that are sure-fire and un-
familiar is a rarity. The second danger lies in a false vocal
approach. The voice betokens too great an effort at being
whimsical and the comedian's chuckles betray him as too
obviously self-gratified. Even well-dressed jokes can not save
him.

The Phenomenon of Charlie McCarthy

Charlie McCarthy was born into radio on December 17,
1930. On that date Rudy Vallee introduced Edgar Bergen,
sitting before the microphone with his dummy on his knee.
This was an experiment and an amusing novelty, pre-
sumed to be good only for a few radio programs. Ventrilo-
quism before this time was a program feature classified with
jugglers and acrobats and confined to the theater, Chau-
tauqua platform and vaudeville.

Within the space of three months the ventriloquist's
dummy was ironically proclaimed by Sinclair Lewis, in a
lecture before the Brooklyn Academy of Arts and Sciences,
as the head of our "national heroes." Northwestern Uni-
versity recently conferred upon him the degree of "Master
of Innuendo and the Snappy Comeback." Edgar Bergen
was similarly honored by Dean Dennis.

What explains the phenomenon of Charlie McCarthy?
Here is a wooden creature, jockied on the knee of his master,
and yet never quite under control. The fellow winks under
his monocle, opens his hinged mouth and utters more im-
pertinences than any other actor would dare throw off his
chest. No one would suspect him of an evil thought, yet his

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 235

utterances have a devilish tinge. He says what he thinks
and emerges triumphantly from situations which the average
listener would not know how to combat. He can take a
whack at the foibles of men and women, puncture their
pomposities, jeer at their false pride, and set humanity in
its proper place. It is because Charlie is beholden to no man
that he becomes the lovable hero. When Adolph Menjou
is extolled as the most perfectly dressed man in the world,
Charlie says with a quirk: "His pants are pressed — so what?"

Psychologists might explain the vogue of Charlie by prov-
ing how, through mass stimuli, the multitudes come to love
symbols rather than reason and reality. Myth and fact be-
come merged into symbols. Charlie McCarthy typifies the
braggart; his throaty, haunting chuckle voices the mockery
of a spiritual soul that is all fed up with the frailties of
human nature. He is a blustering blockhead with an extraor-
dinary brain under his wooden skull. His brassiness is a
compound of wisdom and lampoon. His unusual and un-
expected candor awakens the listener's surprise and admira-
tion. It is the militancy of Charlie McCarthy which made
Ned Sparks turn on him furiously, calling him "a slippery
elm lothario, a hickory version of Pollyanna and a wood
weasel."

The distinguished psychologist, Dr. A. A. Brill, who sub-
jected Charlie to careful analysis, finds a Freudian complex
in the reaction of mass listeners. Says Dr. Brill, "Behind it
all is Mr. Bergen, the ventriloquist, the gifted wag who
uses Charlie as a facade to express contempt, aggression,
and sexual allusion in a witty way. The radio audiences,
who are there because they are sadly in need of such outlets,
are put back by Charlie McCarthy into that early state of
childhood when they, too, were permitted to think and talk
as they pleased, regardless of inhibitions exerted by parents
and society."

The appeal of Charlie is universal. His wisecracks have

236 RAPE OF RADIO

been food for optimists and pessimists. He is regarded as the
enfant terrible whose naive chatter betrays the closest family
secrets. Some wag said, "Charlie McCarthy has been getting
laughs since he was knee-high." In spite of the fact that the
radio audience knows that Charlie is only a dummy, speak-
ing with the voice of the ventriloquist, listeners react as if
Charlie were a human entity. Hearing is believing.

The illusion is created through ventriloquism. From time
immemorial the ventriloquist has excited admiration. The
ancient Chinese had talking dummies which spoke only at
the insistence of priests. The priests held the dummies
against their stomachs and the dummies would answer ques-
tions in the voice of ventriloquism. The trick of ventrilo-
quism is not easy. Normal speech is changed by compressing
the glottis so that sounds seem to emerge from the lips of
the dummy. The successful ventriloquist must make his
dummy's voice quite differentiated from his own. Bergen
manages a varied range for Charlie. An editorial in the New
York Times thus describes the emotional touches that Ber-
gen puts in the voice of his dummy:

"Basically it is arid. Although Charlie is apparently still
in his teens, his little voice is aweary of the world. It has the
infernal fatigued assurance of a lad who has been too much
in the company of his elders; it is suave, condescending and
impertinently familiar. Charlie has a bland tone for throw-
ing an adversary off the track. When he feels that he is
stumbling into an awkward situation his voice can make a
disarming plea for sympathy; it drops away into a choking
tone of self-pity, impossible to believe or to resist. When
he is in a wooing mood beyond his years, his voice fairly
coos with insincere rapture."

Much of the success of Edgar Bergen is due to his ability
to write a great part of the script himself. No comedian has
ever been able to stay in the top ranks of radio for more
than a season or two without the aid of a script writer.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 237

Bergen employs a writing staff, but he uses shrewd judgment
in revising the work submitted.

Here is a typical quip inserted by Edgar Bergen:
"My father was a big stick out in Michigan," boasts
Charlie. " 'Whitey Pine,' they call him." To which Bergen
counters: "From the timbre of your voice, people would
know you came from the woods."

Charlie's creator says: "Many ventriloquists have made
the mistake of making the dummy first and then trying to
fit the voice to it. Their acts flop because the words that are
put in their mouths do no seem to fit them." The image of
Charlie seems to flash on the retina of the listener the mo-
ment he opens his mouth. Listeners have already been made
familiar with his insolent face on the screen and they have
caught sight of him in the drug store window. Over the air
that impertinent face must bespeak itself in a manner re-
flected in his features.

Kidding the Sponsor

In the search for new comedy forms, someone discovered
that the commercial plug could be made a subject of hilarity.
This new device, known as "kidding the sponsor," was not
without its merit. Most sponsors regarded their dignity
at stake if comedians twisted jokes to fit their products.

Ben Bernie is said to have started this vogue of comic
camouflaging. Sometime in 1924, he persuaded his sponsors,
the Pabst Brewers, to permit him to indulge in a mild play
of words: "The old Alma Malta, preferred by the malti-
tudes. Blue Ribbon Malta is the mosta of the besta."

The language of the comic soon became more embold-
ened. In 1931, Ray Perkins began to employ understate-
ment to create the laugh and the sale for Jergen's lotion.
"It is of no use whatsoever in improving poker hands."
"It will not remove wrinkles from the inside straight." "You

238 RAPE OF RADIO

gentlemen who have trouble with your golf remember that
Jergen's makes it easier to get out of the rough."

Eddie Cantor was given leeway with Pebecco. He tells of
his loyal cow: "I've taught her to brush her teeth twice a
day, and now she gives dental cream."

Even Pepsodent permitted this by-play: Amos: "Did yo'
really love Susie?" Andy: "Well, prepsodent and prepsodid."

The kidding formula received fullest development at the
hands of Jack Benny. Benny discovered that he could fore-
stall the irritation of the audience by getting in a rage with
the announcer: "I can go ahead now. How Wilson made
that fit in, I don't know."

Ed Wynn's notorious heckling of Graham McNamee on
his first Texaco program was an advance on the conventional
plug. "Always, Texaco, I'll stick to my horse, Graham. Per-
sonally I hate automobiles. If my horse runs over a nail in
the road, I don't have to stop and pump up its leg." And
then another protest. "Don't talk to me about gas, Graham.
If a doctor ever operated on you for appendicitis, he'd find
himself opening a gas station."

The art of "kidding" the sponsor requires a masterful
use of voice to soften the comic thrust. This involves subtle
nuance instantly recognized as spoofing. Today the form of
"kidding" has gone beyond mere gags. The product is also
subject to humorous treatment in doggerel verse, smart dia-
logue covering a unique situation, and in comic song.

Radio's Only Sophisticated Comic — Fred Allen

A natural evolution of the gag toward a more coherent
form leans toward burlesque. Here the art consists of treat-
ing a serious subject ridiculously or in making a trifling
affair appear quite solemn.

Fred Allen is perhaps the best exponent of this method.
He is the philosopher-comic and satisfies the best definition

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 2 $9

of humor by "thinking in fun and feeling in earnest." Bar-
ing the taboos of broadcasting, Allen spares nothing in the
contemporary scene. The method of making travesty of
events of the day is as old as civilization. There was a time
when Egypt built jokes about the building of the Pyramids
and Aristophanes of Athens held Corinth up to ridicule.

Fred Allen's comedy springs from burlesque of things he
reads about in the newspapers. Men and women, he claims,
are too busy with their own problems to dig up their laughs
as they skim through the papers. "That's my job," says
Allen.

"To begin with," he once told Louis Reid, "I read nine
papers a day. I look for items that'll lend themselves to
kidding. I clip such items as I want. By the end of the week
I may have fifty items collected. I go through them and
figure out what I can't use because of the broadcaster's 'No.'
I am not allowed to poke fun at the Townsend Plan and a
lot of other censorship things. By the time I've sifted through
the batch of fifty, I'm lucky if I have four I can josh!"

He continues, "Oh, yes. I have a joke book collection. I
own some four thousand joke books, but I haven't used a
joke book for years. It's too much trouble to worry about
whether the gags were used recently by another comedian,
so I forget about them. I just go along and get jokes and
situations that I think original."

Perhaps the method is best illustrated by an example he
himself gives in Radio Guide:

"I ran across an item to the effect that the Hartford, Con-
necticut, Motor Vehicle Department had started a novel
safety campaign.

"Cops stop motorists and, instead of arresting them, dis-
cuss the safety campaign. It's a push-over for me. I open my
scene with an officer yelling the usual Tull over to the curb.'
Instead of bawling the driver out, he's as nice as pie — com-
pliments him on 'Nice pulling over, brother,' exchanges

240 RAPE OF RADIO

reminiscences of Woonsocket, Rhode Island, and ends up
offering to race the motorist to Stamford. That is as sure-
fire as comedy can be. It has universality. Everybody knows
cops are tough. Everybody has been bawled out for speed-
ing. There's a sure-fire laugh in the idea of the cop racing
the motorist. Yet, the whole thing came right out of the
New York Times. All I did was put a twist on it to make it
play."

It all appears so easy. Fred Allen had already written
vaudeville sketches for about a dozen years before he entered
radio. A former vaudeville juggler, he was practically un-
known to most of his listeners when he made his radio debut

in 1Q33-

Allen is, first of all, the analyst. He reverses the method
of creating the situation first and then fitting jokes to the
situation. "Some of the boys who write comedy material get
four or five gags and then try to think up a situation that
they'll fit into. That's what I call the hard way. I gave it
up long ago." And so, without benefit of joke books, Fred
Allen looks on the contemporary scene and exposes the
foibles of mankind and turns the laugh of mankind on itself.

Allen, who once billed himself as "The World's Worst
Juggler," might be termed "Radio's Only Sophisticated
Comic." He makes men laugh more heartily in order to
make them live more happily. His genius lies in topsy-turvy
thinking. He satisfies the test of universality in a comic
ability to provoke the laugh of the intelligentsia and the
hoi polloi.

Will Rogers, Master Satirist

No one has appeared to take the place of Will Rogers,
master satirist and disrupter of the political foibles of the
nation. He was unique in that he employed the art of satire
unmercifully and uncensored. Satire is entirely a weapon of
defense and originally was used in personal quarrels.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 241

Will Rogers unassumingly took the role of the defender
of a Public against those who, in some way, stood for anti-
social policies. Instead of using political harangue and vitup-
eration against offenders like Andrew Mellon, he let loose
shafts of satire. He aimed at the very heart of the shams
and rascality of the day, while we laughed with him.

That arch satirist himself, Gilbert K. Chesterton, held that
to preserve the comic spirit "one must have a certain respect
for his enemies." Rogers was a master of this reserve. He
did not assume that those whom he attacked were despicable
characters. He knew that an unqualified attempt to degrade
does not result in laughter.

It was Will Rogers who succeeded in establishing what
Theodore Dreiser calls a "democracy of the funny bone."
The novelist would have us believe that this part of the
American anatomy is constantly exposed, always at elbows
waiting to be tickled or rapped.

"Where else in the world," says Dreiser, "can one get on
equal terms immediately and almost magically with whom-
soever else simply by appealing to that underlying suscepti-
bility to laughter? The wisecrack is our national form of
introduction. It does not mean that all inequalities are
abolished or that you are going to be friends for life, but
that in all forms of social difference are seen to be the ulti-
mate uncertainties that they really are."

Consider this Rogers' gem: "Americans are not worrying
about the League of Nations. What they want is somewhere
to park their cars." Or, the way he twitched the politicians'
noses: "Well, folks, as I was saying, I ain't never been elected
much 'cept Mayor of Beverly Hills. Politicians amuse more
people than they interest. And — uh — I guess this is not an
election of parties or policies. It's an election where both
sides need the work. I think if you would split the salaries
between every two candidates runnin', they would call off
the election."

242 RAPE OF RADIO

And this broadcast appraisal of the English and Americans
on the occasion of the Silver Jubilee of the King and Queen
on May 6, 1935: "We both have manners and customs that
drive each other pretty near crazy, and an American with a
mouthful of chewing gum can get on your nerves almost as
much as an Englishman, with only one eye full of monocle
can get on ours. But, after all, neither commodity contrib-
uted to the success the nations have made.

"We will never have trouble with each other, England,
you or us. We both have humor. If we started to fight, we
would have to stop in the middle and start laughing at each
other. I don't know — you are naturally funny to us and we
are like a mickey mouse cartoon to you."

The first radio talks of Will Rogers were not too success-
ful. All his life he had been accustomed to swinging his
rope, wandering about the stage, and carrying on a running
chatter. He was able to gauge his place according to the
response of the audience while he chewed gum and in-
dulged his peculiar mannerisms. His early manner showed
that he did not quite realize whether he was talking to a
few invited studio guests or to the "great unseen" audience.
Soon he became fully possessed before the mike and "learned
to stay put." His peculiar monologue idiom fell refreshingly
on ears accustomed to the twaddle of comedian and stooge.

What he had to say he said in his "patois" He sounded
the true cowboy from Claremore, Indian Territory. Com-
plaints poured in from college professors who protested
that if Rogers was going to comment on the affairs of the
country, he ought to speak good English." He took liberties
with the rules of syntax, and was ready to justify himself.
"Syntax! What's that? Sounds like bad news." When he found
out it meant grammar, he laughed and replied: "Didn't
know they were buying grammar now. I'm just so dumb I
had a notion it was thoughts and ideas."

The secret of Will Rogers' appeal lay in his easy intimacy

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 243

with his audience. To achieve this personal and direct ap-
proach, one must appear wholly extemporaneous. On rare
occasions Rogers read from a script. He employed no ghost
writer, no gag specialist. He considered the questions of the
day and made a trademark of the confession, "All I know
is what I read in the papers." His method was to fill himself
full of a subject — let us say Russia. A week before his broad-
cast he would be constantly talking — talking Russia to his
friends or in private rehearsal with himself, always ready to
apply a satiric touch.

He would think out a line or a joke and then spring it in
the right place as if it just came from the forehead of the
Jove of Satire. When the time came to broadcast, Rogers
had already built up by conversation those sharp-edged and
taunting sayings which he delivered with spontaneity.

His spirit was kind yet stern. He mixed humor with a
pungent philosophy. He belonged to the crowd because he
spoke their language and could interpret the popular mood.
By the irony of fate, Rogers met tragic death by crashing
to earth in Wiley Post's plane. And there was lost to radio
the man whom Homer Croy called "Radio's Best One-Man
Show."

How to Become a Radio Humor Writer

Radio is determined to keep us amused. The writer of
radio comedy has the world before him, and begins with the
thesis that everything can be made laughable, ludicrous,
ridiculous.

Language has specialized use for the humor writer. Gram-
mar need not deter him. He has but to indulge in funny
images and use words to create ludicrous pictures in the
mind. He can employ his fancy in puns and phrases, in
strange twists of meaning, of affinity of sound, in smart
questions and sly quips, in clever repartee, tart irony, laugh-
ter-provoking hyperbole, intelligent nonsense, distorted

244 RAPE OF RADIO

speech, and the representation of persons, things, and events
in their contradictions to fact and truth.

For the writer in training we shall set down here only a
few guiding principles and methods in illustration.

1. Above all, exercise an original turn of mind. Contrive
to turn things topsy turvy, see people reflected in concave
and convex mirrors, and garner the laugh from the most
sober aspect of things. Look under the surface of things
and be ready to uncover hypocrisies and shams of everyday
life. All this sounds easy. But as a second thought, you must
reduce the laugh to the simplest terms. It is the average
listener who must be amused, so your comic stuff must not
only be palatable, but swallowed entirely.

2. Get a collection of gags, fresh ones if possible. This
may take many years of grinding effort and a perusal of
thousands of jokes from anthologies and magazines. Be
warned that so prolific has become the flood of bad radio
comedy that nowadays when a youngster begins to save old
humor magaznies, one suspects he plans on opening a dental
office or becoming a comic.

3. Provide yourself with the published anthologies of
jokes. Good sized collections are Five Thousand World's
Best Jokes, edited by L. Copeland, (Blue Ribbon), The
World's Best Humorous Anecdotes, (Harpers), and The
Cream of the Jesters, (Boni). Your study of the history of
humor can cover an enormous bibliography, but Constance
Rourke's invaluable American Humor and Eastman's En-
joyment of Laughter belong first on your reading list. Your
mind may be a storehouse of ancient gags, but the trick is to
bedeck them anew. Beware the charge of plagiarism.

Groucho and Chico Marx were convicted in a Los An-
geles Federal Court of plagiarizing a copyright skit entitled
"The Hollywood Adventures of Mr. Dibble and Mr.
Dabble," written by Garrett and Carroll Graham. On ap-
peal to the Circuit Court, Judge William Handy upheld the

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 245

decision on the ground that the Marx Brothers had read
the script before they broadcast it in September 1936, and
so could not have forgotten about it.

4. Try to turn an epigram at ease. You may not reach the
skill of Augustine Birrell whose "barrelling" included such
a classic as: "The House of Lords is a group representing
nobody but themselves and enjoying the full confidence of
their constituents."

5. Study historic witticisms for salty phrase. Make ap-
plicable such a one, quoted by John Gunther in Inside Eu-
rope: "Once Poincare remarked to a group of friends, 'I
smell war/ Leon Blum said simply, 'Let him disinfect
himself."

6. Try your hand at pungent, witty, pithy and lively say-
ings. Fred Allen dusted off a quip from "Jumbo": "An
elephant never forgets, but what has he got to remember?"
Analyze this witticism. He is a self-made man and proud of
his creator. Or the one which Edward Everett Horton let
loose on a program: "A bachelor is a fellow who never
makes the same mistake once."

Walter Winchell calls those who create the informal com-
edy stuff for Benny and the rest "insult writers." To qualify
for this title, you must let humor flow from the taunts your
characters hurl at each other. Radio comedy does not en-
visage the old custard pie throwing days, or squirting grape-
fruit into a lady's face in the manner of Cagney, but it per-
mits a merciless exchange of savage and insane patter.

7. Give attention to the derided pun, so that you can
qualify as a "pun-gent" writer. It may be low-type humor,
but the radio audience thrives on puns. Mort Lewis, with
some apology for being its author, quotes a pun he created
for a Maxwell House Program: January: (Restaurant cus-
tomer): Does you make good coffee? Molasses: Good coffee!
Boy, I make swell (Maxwell) coffee.

8. You should welcome the genesis of new words in the

246 RAPE OF RADIO

manner of Walter Winchell. Slang may be the epitome of
humor. He strikes out with this one from his "Things I
Didn't Know 'Till Now" Department: "Disraeli wore cor-
sets. Of course, it's true."

"The battle of depression has been won," says one speaker.
"Good!" replies Fred Allen. "Now the employers can cease
firing."

9. Exaggeration has its values. When W. C. Fields moans
that "wine flowed like glue," we catch an immediate pic-
ture. And so, too, we know the predicament of Bob Hope
who complained: "My fan mail has been so heavy these past
few weeks, I've had to get another cigar box."

10. Try your hand at comedy playlets. This form requires
the highest degree of compression. Fred Allen follows cer-
tain definite principles in creating the action for the Mighty
Allen Art Players. "What I do in these playlets," he says, "is
to present a boiled-down version of what might have been a
real play, and then make it funny. It takes plotting, but in
the end you have two points of interest, the story and the
comedy."

Women writers seem to have neglected the field of radio
comedy. There is nothing to prevent them from providing
the comic with the nourishing gags. Mabel Anderson is one
of the few women writers to venture into radio comedy.
She ascribes the lack of comic creativeness on the part of
women to an emotionality that is less stable than that of
men. Submit this jest of Miss Anderson's to the laugh test:

M.C.: Hello, Mabel, what's that big book you're carrying?
Mabel: Oh, this? It's a book of my family pictures.
M.C.: Family pictures? They call them family albums.
Mabel: That's my family all right. All bums!
And another of Miss Anderson's:
Baker: I thought your father was rich.
Mabel: Say, my father has so many gold teeth in his
mouth he has to sleep with his head in a safe!

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 247

11. Collaborate, — if you can find a comedy partner.
Writers of comedy generally work in collaboration with the
comedian. Jack Benny uses the conference-collaboration
method. Mary Livingstone and his writers gather around
him, and together they decide on a "situation" that has
humorous possibilities. If Christmas or Mother's Day is not
far off, they may decide on a theme to fit the holiday. This
is what is called making the program "timely." Now comes
the test of the writers' imaginations. The situation must be
milked for its laughs.

The writer may delve into his file for appropriate jokes,
but without an inventive turn of mind he may turn out the
average pattern of drivel. Turn loose your ingenuity in
adapting jokes to new situations. For new and brilliant
flashes of wit, trust to your fancy which is the highest form
of imagination. The "idea" behind your sketch serves as
the main stem from which floriate your gags, witticisms,
puns and comedy thrusts. How easy to adapt this one of
Byron Spaun to a restaurant episode: "I was in a restaurant
yesterday, one of those with a sign 'Not Responsible for
Articles Stolen,' " said Byron, thumbing his suspenders. "I
watched my hat, and someone stole my soup."

It is such casual talk that made the comedy script of the
"The Circle." Every Tuesday Madeline Carroll, Groucho
Marx, Lawrence Tibbett, Basil Rathbone and Robert Dolan
met "at home," and started the ball of conversation a-roll-
ing. A secretary took down every word they were saying. This
casual talk was the basis for the script. By the time they
met again for rehearsal, Groucho had injected enough gags
in the script to lift it into sheer travesty. He picks up a
pun not only with his fellow actors, but deals devastatingly
with his own comment. This implies an easy gift of steering
conversation to comic destruction.

Most of the writers of radio comedy began their work in
other fields. Wilkie Mahoney, writer for Ed Wynn, was a

248 RAPE OF RADIO

contributor to the humorous magazines like Life and Judge.
Harry Tugen was in the show business, took to writing for
the stage and was eventually hired by Fred Allen as a special
assistant on the "Town Hall" program. Harry Conn was a
tap dancer. Sam Perrin, who writes for Phil Baker, played
the trap drum. John R. Medbury, who writes thousands of
gags from which Burns and Allen collect their material,
started as a newspaper columnist.

So, let not your calling deter you from making a try at
the deadly stuff one calls radio humor. From an altruistic
standpoint, you may prove to be the comedian's salvation.
And you might suddenly wake up and find yourself famous
or rich.

Harry Conn reached the all-time high in salary for
"humor writers." His contract with Jack Benny provided
for payment of twenty-five per cent of the comedian's salary.
This was in 1936 when Benny was getting seven thousand
dollars a broadcast. Conn was subsequently under contract
to Joe Penner's sponsors at a salary equal to that of Joe
Penner — one thousand five hundred dollars a program.

The average weekly salary for a good gag writer is five
hundred dollars, less than one-tenth of a good comedian.
The highest paid gag-writer is Don Quinn, sole writer for
the Fibber McGee (NBC) at three thousand seven hundred
and fifty dollars a week.

The Comedian's Taboos

Pity the poor comedian, tied down by the taboos and
decrees of radio. The presentation of humor by the human
voice alone has created the unwritten laws of "good taste"
and "public decency." The comedian is at the mercy of
sponsors, agencies and networks and the regulations and
rules must be followed no matter how cruel they appear.

Fred Allen finds the restrictions on comedy style cramp-

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 24Q

ing and oppressive. "Radio comedy," he says, "will remain
in its infancy as long as network executives see fit to censor
and blue-pencil scripts for the silliest reasons. They are
holding back program progress by exercising editorial
powers for the most absurd reasons."

A more direct internal censorship has been discovered by
Mort Lewis which he claims works to the disadvantage of
writers of comedy. "There should be no favoritism in
censorship," he urges.

And further: "Various censorship restrictions are inter-
preted by the network in different fashion, depending on
the importance of the comedian. W. C. Fields uses types of
jokes which are on the banned list — though in the theater
they wouldn't even be milk toast-mild. However, when an-
other writer attempts to merely approach the Fields standard
of rough-house humor with a lesser comedian, the script is
completely censored. No wonder a radio comedy program is
likely to be bad, when it must be entirely rewritten the day
of the broadcast."

Let us take some of the major restrictions with regard to
topical events and personalities.

President Roosevelt: It is not regarded in good taste to
lend the president to the ridiculousness of a comedy pro-
gram. Gags that favorably portray the Chief Executive are
also generally shunned. Ed Wynn once used a joke about
President Roosevelt, who could be known as the greatest
lover of all time because of his supreme "courting." This
piece of witticism was ruled out.

President Roosevelt is reported to have stated his favorite
joke of the year as the one recently aired on a Fibber McGee
program. Against a background of "My friends . . ." chat-
ter, a woman listener said, "Oh, Frank, get another station."
The response that cheered Roosevelt was: "Myrtle, when
you hear 'my friends' on the air, you can't get another
station."

250 RAPE OF RADIO

Congress and American Politicians: Leave both groups
severely alone. These topics cause hysterics with sponsors
similar to the conniptions over Roosevelt gags. Ted Husing
recalls a sponsor who forbade any gags "about that Delta of
the Mississippi, Huey Long." The sponsor didn't love Huey
but feared that the Senator, if offended, would sock a Louisi-
ana state tax on the advertised product.

Supreme Court: References to this august body are dis-
couraged. Sponsors have been known to clip out the jokes
mentioning the "nine old men." When issues are strongly
divided in the public mind, the sponsor plays safe.

Potentates of state, and ex-rulers still alive: Certain sub-
tleties might pass, but comic references to General Franco,
Hitler, Mussolini, when overdrawn are undiplomatic and
would involve immediate protest from nationals. The net-
works rigorously banned quips about the then Mrs. Simpson
during the abdication period of the present Duke of
Windsor.

Other actors: Here the test is the possible injury the joke
may bring to the victims. References to Garbo's feet or Mae
West's figure are approved because of their semi-advertising
value for these ladies. The subject of Peggy Garcia's breach
of promise suit against Rubinoff was not in the mentionable
class. Nor was Jack Benny's smuggling venture with the
United States Government.

Fred Allen once complained that, "just because NBC
happens to be sponsoring a symphonic series headed by
Toscanini, no one can even mention the maestro's name. I
wrote Toscanini's name into a script in a most compli-
mentary manner, but it was ruled right out. I had to change
the line to include Stokowski's name, but even then they
urged me to substitute a fictitious take-off like Kotowski."

Language Taboos: Here the laws of good taste prevail.
Words that might provoke "trouble" are generally cut out.
One seldom hears phrases such as "you're crazy," or "you're

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 251

out of your head." Expressions like "dope," "hell," and
"sex," are to be used with extreme caution.

In the recent Allen-Benny feud, the comedians hurled
the term "anemic" at each other frequently and with as
much ferocity as the bloodless word could stand. The station
was in receipt of many letters which complained "anemic
might be a funny term to you, but it isn't so funny to a lot
of people who are that way."

When Jack Benny and Fred Allen make a joint appear-
ance before the microphone they make a high spirited
departure from the script. Jack Benny had a line about
water over the darn. "Over the darn?" asked Fred. "Yes, you
know how careful we have to be on the radio." A few
minutes later WEAF received an angry phone call from a
woman who said she represented the "League of Decency."
"We caught the full implication of those 'over the darn'
remarks," she said. "The National Broadcasting Company
will hear from our organization tomorrow. You may count
on it."

Jokes involving long sequences: These are watched very
carefully. In a long sequence joke, a listener tuning in
during the middle, without having listened to the full con-
text, might put a dirty meaning to what is being said

Strikes: The sitdowners afforded many a wise crack, but
to mention specific parties was not allowed. The WPA
worker came in for his share of jibes, and it is indiscreet
now to lampoon the man on relief. This is a sample of the
kind of jokes that flourished: "Just read that a WPA worker
broke his neck. Termites ate through his handle."

Embarrassing incidents in the News: Public opinion splits
on these matters, and the side favoring the victim will make
vigorous protest.

Laxative, diseases, bodily functions of any kind: Under
the ban completely. Never try to ring in products like "Lydia
Pinkham" or "Sloane's Liniment" or anything similar.

252 RAPE OF RADIO

While such products are not laxatives, there will be a nota-
tion on the blue-pencilled joke stating that mention of other
products is not countenanced.

Smells and odors: Discouraged, unpleasant. In times past
it was possible to use the word "skunk." Now it's generally
crossed out.

Religious matters: Absolutely taboo. Even so general a
term as the word "church" has to be handled carefully. Phil
Baker worked up a gag once about a skunk going to a very
crowded church. "So you had to stand?" asks Bottle sympa-
thetically. "Oh, no," says Baker, "he brought his own pew."
A blue pencil was drawn through "church" and the phrase
"animal temple" substituted. That's how it went out.

Blue and Off-color jokes: These are slashed unmercifully
as on screen and stage. Because of the mixed audience, air
must be kept pure from suggestive smut, and sexy innuendo.
A comedian who tells a joke that can be interpreted as
offensive does immeasurable harm. Where to draw the line?
Here the censor must use the nicest discrimination. Mrs.
Freedman instanced this dialogue as the type that did not
pass: Patient: "What does that sign down the hall say?"
Doctor: "Please refrain from making a nurse."

Human deformity, illness, disease, death: It takes a trigger
mind to devise jokes along these lines that will not be con-
sidered in bad taste. Even stuttering has fallen into the
discard as a phase of radio humor.

Industries and occupations: Jokes about insurance men
and bankers are frowned upon, although vaudeville thrived
on them for years. The story of the radio comedian who
made the wise-crack about a pharmaceutical student who
won his degree of Doctor of Philosophy because he was a
whiz at making mayonnaise, won protests from drug
stores all over the country.

Ed Wynn was once asked not to use a joke referring to a
million dollar baby and a five and ten cent store.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 253

Peoples, religions, creeds: The growth of intolerance has
forcibly reflected itself in racial or dialectic humor. Certain
races resent being burlesqued on the air, even if the kidding
or story telling is done by a member of the race involved.
The Scotch, with a super-developed sense of humor, are
most tolerant of jokes at their expense.

Comedians and other mike performers might think that
they are getting a tough deal, but the strain that censorship
puts on the network is infinitely tougher. At NBC, the task
of censorship falls upon Miss Janet McRories, Continuity
Acceptance Editor.

The Comedian's Vocal Manners

The voice guides the destiny of the radio comedian.
Even gags that are dead in print can be prodded into hilari-
ous life by the right vocal touch. Ideas can be made ridicu-
lous by unusual pitches, sudden changes of inflection,
exaggerated emphasis and unusual vocal coloring.

Each comedian has a distinct vocal manner which identi-
fies him with the radio audience. Bob Burns, for example,
is uniformly rhythmical in speech. He rambles through his
hill-billy stories with a sing-song monotony. Two arrangers
found that his talk could be fitted to a musical time signature
of 4/4 with an occasional lapse into 3/4 time.

Phil Baker reflects the wise-guy, know-it-all tonality; Fred
Allen dispenses nonsense nasally with sardonic overtones;
Eddie Cantor builds up the punch line with high pitches
and the exuberance of the "gee-whiz" school. In a lesser de-
gree Al Jolson also carries on with youthful glee and swag-
ger, and seems to have an endless amount of vitality. Jack
Benny employs the drawl and wins a laugh even with a
feeble gag. George Burns symbolizes the indulgent husband
with a quality of voice that is half-kindly and half reproving.

Gracie Allen's success in character is, in no small measure,

254 RAPE OF RADIO

due to her voice. The giggling high pitch of comic hysteria
makes our ears act as the antennae of the ridiculous. Her
tones match any answers.

Beatrice Lillie was introduced to radio on Rudy Vallee's
program. For twenty-six weeks as Beatrice Borden she pre-
sented a type of humor that was unique on the air. She
could no longer rely upon the mute eloquence of panto-
mime, the flash of her eyes, the twist of her mouth, or the
unexpected stumble of her feet. She had to rely upon her
rare gift of conveying subtle double meanings. Her peculiar
off-pitch intonations lend the quality of superb travesty to
her spoofing.

The most important asset of the comedian is to maintain
an authenticity in voice that is his own peculiar impersona-
tion. The slightest suggestion that the comedian has stepped
out of "character" vocally, will break the rapport of the
listener. Comic realism requires consistent portrayal in
voice.

The radio audience has come to expect that the comedi-
an's vocal manner be effortless, spontaneous and natural to
the character portrayed. This apparent ease of manner is
usually the result of hard years of trial and error on the
stage. The successful radio comedian has worked out and
perfected every mannerism in voice calculated to catch the
laugh. The individual quality of voice in the comedian
springs from the imagination. Without the ability to throw
himself into "mood" the unconvincing rendering of lines
will be fatal to any comedian.

Ed Wynn, who galloped up to the microphone hysterically
whooping life into many an embalmed joke, lays down this
condition for the comedian's success: "Creative clowning
must have an air of complete conviction on the part of an
actor to achieve any success at all. To be a zany on the stage,
a player must convince himself twice a day that he's as mad
as a hatter, a trick which has come to be second nature

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 255

when you've dabbled in lunacy as I have." The spirit of the
comedian's performance often depends upon proper timing.
All this is a matter of experiment, for what is good timing
in vocal method for one comedian will be dismal for an-
other. Ed Wynn reminds us that his stuff would sound
terrible if some one else spoke his lines.

George Jessel, piqued at not being able to get a start in
radio, once observed that to succeed as a comedian "you
must be able to make funny noises." As a supreme test for
the comedian, someone suggested that he try to simulate the
sounds which come from an oyster shuddering under a
sprinkle of tabasco sauce. The tradition that funny noises
are best suited for radio comedy is not likely to pass soon.
There is always some new way of making a noise.

Joe Penner started the "hollering" style of the simpleton
that gave children and adults the idea of having a lot of
noisy fun. It was a vogue — this blatant manner of being
comic — sheer noise, pop bottle gurglings, gags, and bedlam,
ending with a blast of catch phrases: "you naaasty man,"
"don't ever dooooo that," and "wanna buy a duck?" all en-
toned in what Cyrus Fisher once called "a gloss-epiglottic"
laugh and loose-nut delivery.

Much of Phil Baker's success was due to the hollow malev-
olent voice of his stooge "Beetle." The ghostly voice of the
heckler belonged to Henry Arthur Ladd. The voice went
through a filter and emerged from a radio loud speaker with
a metallic quality that was the engineer's idea of how a
ghost should talk.

Words, too, have a way of tickling the ear. Fred Allen
finds the word "puss" the surest comic word in the English
language. Whenever he wants to be sure of a laugh on a line,
he just calls someone "crinklepuss" or something like that
at the end.

Dialect is an important aid to the radio comedian. Here
the comedian moves on dangerous ground, for dialect must

256 RAPE OF RADIO

be so convincingly real as to make us believe it is not dialect
at all. It was generally believed that gags sounded funnier if
they were presented in dialect rather than in normal voice.
Those who have achieved distinction as dialecticians owe
their success to their ability to build up a distinct per-
sonality through voice. Through the dislocation of English
sounds the laugh is achieved by phonetic burlesque.

For many years Jack Pearl and his stooge Hall Cliff, kept
alive on the vaudeville stage the Weberfieldian tradition.
On the air for Lucky Strike, Pearl instituted the vogue for
dialect with the same "Dutch" distortions, this time in the
role of that master prevaricator, Baron Munchausen. Many
were his followers who branched out into other dialects.

Teddy Bergman first came to radio as ''Joe Palooka." He
can expertly break into an imitation of a Swede, Jew, Dutch-
man, and a score of other nationalities. One of his early
brain children was Blubber, a big, helpless, overgrown boy
of nineteen with nit-wit stuttering instincts when things
went wrong. To achieve as a dialectician, study the dialect.
Bergman tells how he tutored with a German butcher whose
accent was so thick you could hardly cut it with his own
cleaver. Next he picked his Italian iceman.

The imaginative figure of Schlepperman which appeared
in radio in 1933, was so clearly defined to his listeners that
his creator, Sam Hearn, refused to write lines in his script
that would seem alien. Hearn definitely fixed the vogue for
dialect.

A recent recruit to radio comedy via the Rudy Vallee
program is Lew Lehr. His special talent lies in the use of a
splutter of dialect which soars into subtle imitation and
sophistication. For comedy effects he employs a broad lisp.
His catch phrases "s'marvelous!" and "monkeys are the
cwaziest people!" are enough to provoke visions of the man
who grimaces for all Movietone News fans. He is at home

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 257

equally in Jewish, Oxford, and Cockney dialect. For French
he employs a horrible concoction of half French and half
Jewish, because he says French dialect is not funny.

The laugh of the comedian can indicate every sentiment
from a gushing haw-haw to the most refined chuckle. The^
stooge who acts as assistant in lunacy, often contributed to
comedy effects by the character of his laugh. When Don Wil-
son guffaws, he actually enjoys the show no matter how
many times he has heard it, and Harry von Zell is classed
as one of the most honest laughers in radio.

There is something of the laughing streak that Graham
McNamee and Ed Wynn had in common. When Wynn went
to a rival network he was forced to do without McNamee.
Over a hundred announcers, lesser comics of the air, and
actors were called to try out for the post of McNamee. They
were asked to listen to transcriptions of Wynn's programs
to see if they could copy McNamee's expert stooging style
and his vocal manner. It was essential that the stooge selected
not only know pace, and the adroit art of build-up, but also
possess a microphone voice that carried dignity and could
explode in a laugh. John S. Young was finally selected, but
could not give Wynn that special lift that McNamee offered.

Every radio comedian wishes there were truth in Ella
Wheeler Wilcox's familiar saying: ''Laugh and the world
laughs with you." Let the comedian try a merry, spontaneous
laugh and he will soon find how hard the technique is. It
is amazing how the ear of the listener catches the slightest
false giggle or laugh.

Timing

Timing is the comedian's sixth sense for the precise dia-
logue pace which vitalizes his humor. If he applies himself
at too swift or too slow a pace, the comedian's attempts may
be tragic. Almost instinctively the comedian must anticipate
the reaction of the listener. He may choose to burst the

258 RAPE OF RADIO

comic bubble with swift thrust, or indulge his comic fancy
in slow feints and passes.

All this implies that the comedian establishes a pace that
is appropriate to his material and style. Only practice can
determine how the audience will react. Timing for the
comedian is not merely measurement by the clock of his
rate of delivery. Timing also involves the use of appropriate
phrase, pause, repetition, the laugh, and those nuances of
intonation and delivery which are the life pulse of the jester.
You must know when to pick up a joke and when to let go
of it. Phil Baker has remarked that a radio comic, like a
billiard champion, is lost without his cue.

The first task of the radio comedian is to adjust his timing
to listener reaction. Without a visible audience, it is difficult
to gauge the tempo. Ed Wynn and Eddie Cantor used to
establish mood and tempo by wearing burlesque costumes.
Comedians, one by one, fell in line with the practice of car-
rying on with studio audiences present. From the audience
they got the feel of the split second where laughs will
register.

Many laughs in the studio are infectiously whipped into
being by a laughing clique. Many believe that the uproarious
laugh of the audience has only a nuisance value for the
listener. Surveys will probably show that if the listener
in the privacy of his home exults in the jokes of the co-
median, he will join in the chorus laughter of the studio. If
he finds the witticisms dull and labored, he will mentally
berate the studio audience for blowing up into a laughing
gale.

With Edgar Bergen, timing is the thing. Bergen not only
has a split-second register of cues and rejoinders, but he also
uses dialogue which is a semi-continued story around a
character. Timing techniques vary with comedy styles: Allen
— dry, ironically nasal, moving along quickly with beautiful
precision in word twists; Amos and Andy — reflective; But-

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 259

terworth — vacuous, optimistic, owl-faced; Wynn — boister-
ous, raucous, fire-alarmist; Bob Burns — measured, confiden-
tial, in sing-song drawl.

On a Lanny Ross-Charlie Butterworth program, Groucho
and Chico Marx once slowed down in deference to radio
tempo, on the theory that radio listeners can not keep pace
with the rapid flow of wit. The result was flat and lagging
because their straining for effects seemed too obvious. At a
second trial, the zany went back to the headlong pace which
is their successful and natural manner. The chief problem
of comedy is to keep the tempo high. Fred Allen has been
criticized for a delivery too fast for the ordinary ear. He re-
fuses to retard his tempo, having found it successful during
five years of experiment.

Each member of a radio comedy must coordinate in tim-
ing according to styles of playing. A stooge, for example,
feeds a forceful line to Jack Benny, one calculated to irri-
tate the vanity of the comedian. Benny might miss the point
entirely; Mary might let out a nervous giggle; the dialect
stooge or the conductor might pick up the subject with a
"slow-burn," reaching the height of comedy as the laugh
dissolved into the next part of the program. If timed exactly
right, and timed to give each of the actofs a chance to regis-
ter, the scene should successively garner the expected "spot
laughs."

To keep a program moving at a rapid pace, experiment
has proved that there must be at least four "sock" gags
a minute. This means sixty jokes for one fifteen-minute pro-
gram. On a thirty-minute program, Wynn and Graham had
some seventeen minutes of comedy between them. Wynn
clocked his sure-fire laughs accurately, three to a minute, a
laugh for every twenty seconds. The rest of the time was
spent in building up for the laughs and feeding. Graham
was the perfect "yes man" for the perfect fool. His timing

260 RAPE OF RADIO

was skilful and Wynn relied on him for his spontaneous
chuckling.

Laughs are graded as "fair," "good," and "belly." The
rounds of applause are carefully measured. It may seem like
a Baron Munchausen tale, but it was accurately estimated
that the best that Jack Pearl ever did was one hundred and
twenty-six laughs and twenty-six rounds of applause in six-
teen minutes, and that was a record.

We may best illustrate these principles by a study of an
actual broadcast of Ed Wynn on the A & P hour.

Wynn: I've got a friend who is a boxer. Once he hung up
his coat in a restaurant, but he was afraid someone would
run off with it.

This was the beginning of the joke, but since the audience
began to titter the pace became slower.

Graham: They do that. Philosophically.

Wynn: What do you mean, "They do that?" Wynn is
stalling now.

Graham: They run off with them. I recognize that coat
you've got on. Pause for laughs. Continues giggling. Then
Wynn continues with the joke as he started.

Wynn: This friend of mine was afraid someone would
run off with his coat so he put a sign on it. He hung a sign
on it saying, "This coat belongs to the champion boxer of
the world and I'll be back." Here Wynn slows up in pace
and makes funny noises, then continues.

Wynn: Do you know what happened, Graham? Do you
know what happened? Pause until the audience grasps the
full meaning of the repetition.

Graham: No. Chuckling, which is an accepted device in
timing. What happened?

Wynn: When he came back, Graham, he found another
sign hanging where the coat had been. This sign said — the
sign said, "This coat was taken by the champion runner of
the world, and I won't be back."

The audience roars with laughter, but Wynn, listening
carefully, decides he is not getting quite the laugh he wants.
He waits for the first lull and then swiftly adds:

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 26 1

Wynn: You know, Graham, I'm really surprised they
laugh at some of these. At the finish laughter breaks out
again. The unexpected touch makes the joke seem twice as
funny.

Any comedy program may be similarly analyzed as to tim-
ing. The slightest error in timing, the tiniest over-develop-
ment spells ruin. If the gags are climaxed successfully, they
mount up with increasing gales of laughter. It is evident that
gags piled one on top of each other without regard to
listener response will kill each other off.

Holding Comic Control

Analyze the technique of your favorite radio comedian.
Observe how effects are gained by surprise ending, or by
some misuse or twist of phrase, or by some incongruity which
captures the mind. The personality and style of the co-
median vary, but there are definite principles which guide
both the comedian and the writer. We may here briefly
set the important rules for holding comic control.

1. The first device employed by the radio comedian is
that of speed. Listeners who are kept on the run have no
time in which to be analytical. There is a certain hypnotic
control that follows with the swingier and swifter pace.

2. The second device flows from the vigor and animation
of the performer. It is a vocal manner that infects the listener
irresistibly. The whole scene is suffused by the personality of
the comedian whose superior strength is unquestioned. It
is his duty to sustain this rapport with the listeners until
the end of the program. The principal characteristic of Ed
Wynn's style has been its speed, no joke longer than a line
or two, and one gag piled on top of another. He avoids the
long story. The full measure of joy in life seems to come
tumbling forth in an endless torrent.

3. Under-emphasis in comedy is another trick of timing.

262 RAPE OF RADIO

Ken Murray explained imder-emphasis as rising toward the
climax with zest and then throwing the punch away by let-
ting it down with a mumble as if they had lost interest.

4. The building of a gag requires craftsmanship. The
comedian works up to his climax, without overdoing it. A
long-drawn-out gag is generally fatal if the expectancy of
the listener is not fulfilled in the laugh. Avoid unnecessary
detail. Only by a means of a suppression of considerable and
even essential part of the action, is an effect of wit or humor
obtained. The trick lies in leaving the actual progress of
events to the imagination of the listener. We laugh when we
are forced to a delightful inference.

5. In wit which involves a play on words, the listener's
attention must pause twice, on meaning and on sound. If
the effort, however swift, is not regarded as worth while,
woe to the pun! A good gag must have a conclusion that is
perfectly obvious to the average listener. They must see
through it at once. Humor is delightful when it explodes,
dismal when explained.

6. The "punch" line stirs the laugh. In a series of laughs,
the comedian crowds one stimulus on the heels of the other,
and leads the imagination back and forth with a swiftness
that sets the listener wondering what is coming next. The
laugh gives that moment of relaxation for the listener to
adjust his interest for the next "punch" line. For twelve
minutes of talk, a comedian generally allows a spread of fif-
teen minutes.

7. The comedian may laugh with us, but is a failure if
he is suspected of laughing at his own jokes. The true co-
median makes us feel he is laughing at laughter.

8. If a pun or a gag misses fire, four things must have
happened: (a) The audience has failed to imagine the situa-
tion; (b) the situation when imagined does not turn out to
be a laughable one; (c) too much effort has been made in
picking up the similarity in sound on which the pun is

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 263

based; (d) the listener is already familiar with the gag or
pun which has been previously done to death on the air.

The Future of the Radio Comedian

Radio comedians suffer from the obsession that the kilo-
cycles were made to kill them off. The depleted stock of gags
constantly threatens them with starvation. Few of them
have had long microphone life. Those that survive have
their week divided into seven nightmares. Such is the dismal
side of the comedian's career.

Because of this intense strain on the comedian, Groucho
Marx turned down a sponsor's offer with the plea: "They
wanted to sign us up for two years but I held out for six
weeks. This sounds a little crazy, but the thought of getting
twenty pages of jokes together — even old jokes — every seven
days was too much for us to contemplate."

But let us fully consider some of the ills of radio comedy.
Max Eastman in a radio interview with Rudy Vallee as-
serted that the making of jokes has become the world's most
difficult labor. He offers no panacea for the comedians'
plight, but warns them not to overexert: "This business of
turning out forty thousand jokes a week for the radio mar-
ket has become a serious business," suggests Eastman; "that's
the trouble with it. The speed is too high, competition too
strong. The play is out of it and that's why humor is stiff
in the joints. I can't see any cure for it except to get more
comedians and not work them so hard — not let them work
so hard. Bring up the chairs and force them into a sitdown
strike."

Radio, however, cannot be held entirely responsible for
the dearth of new jokes. "Men cannot always be inventing
new jokes," says Aldous Huxley, "any more than they can
be inventing new religions or new styles of poetry."

The comedian cannot be blamed if he relies on certain

264 RAPE OF RADIO

venerable laughter-provoking traditions. Always his task is
formidable. He must keep abreast of the times. He must
show folly at its height. He must expose the prejudices and
caprices of mankind and account for the incongruities in a
world which is topsy-turvy. He must give the mind a swift
holiday from the severities of life. He must release laughter,
and let us look at our fellow beings in some sort of carica-
ture. He must contradict our very senses.

The presentation of humor by the voice alone has forced
the comedian to create new techniques. He is just beginning
to discover himself. Stephen Leacock reminds us that the
nineteenth century took its humor through books, the
printed page stimulating the mind to create pictures.
"Presently," predicts Leacock, "the perfection of television
and the invention of talking books will further alter
conditions."

Many would provide the future comedian with a training
in his art; instead of serving his apprenticeship by crude
imitation of others, he would get a basic understanding in
first principles before being turned loose on the air. Mort
Lewis, himself a prolific writer of radio skits looks to the col-
leges for such instruction. He seriously proposes:

"There should be courses started by colleges or the broad-
casting chains to train writers in the art of radio comedy.
In spite of the tremendous amount of junk perpetrated on
the programs, and I plead guilty to being responsible for
some of it — there is an art or definite technique to comedy
program construction which must be learned. It is exceed-
ingly difficult for the beginner to break in, so a prospective
writer, no matter what his talent, has little chance to learn
the trade. A practical course could be initiated in charge of
some comedy writer or production man, with lectures once
in a while by some of our more articulate comics such as
Fred Allen. After all, there are college courses in scenario
writing and play writing."

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 265

Already courses in "humor" have been established in some
colleges. In 1937, Professor W. E. Moore of the University
of Florida announced: "The university is going to have a
course in Humor, but it won't teach how to be an end-man
or a radio comedian." This in itself is a supreme wise-crack,
that would bring chuckles to those comedians who get five
thousand dollars a week and over without benefit of uni-
versity studies to wit.

Character portrayal has never reached great heights in
radio comedy. Comedians are searching for a formula as
certain as that of Amos 'n' Andy. This saga of the air has
gone through over three thousand episodes in its more than
eight years of life over NBC. And each episode epitomized
in some way, the comic spirit that envelops the hopes and
frustrations of mankind. Charles Correll (Andy) and Free-
man Gosden (Amos) have always written their scripts them-
selves. "We never could get anybody who could write what
we needed. Writers always came to us with a lot of jokes."

Radio is beginning to take its cue from written comedy.
The enduring humor of the world is fashioned about char-
acters like Don Quixote and his English cousin Falstaff.
And so, comedy writers have realized that audiences like
to ally themselves with some personality who can mirror
their own foibles. Who knows but that some great radio
Mark Twain shall arise to create comedy figures that will
endure because they typify for all the world the escape from
the burdening formula of our lives?

Sophisticates who sneer at radio humor will never be
satisfied with our present comic fare. They forget that radio
comedy must be mass humor. All men differ about the laugh-
able. A man is born to see a particular joke or he is not. A
radio comedian cannot educate him into it.

Radio cannot hope to regenerate comedy as long as every
radio joke is subject to censorship, and must run the gaunt-
let of prejudices, reformers, educational groups and every

266 RAPE OF RADIO

variety of taboo. Comedy is based on the common denomi-
nator for laugh in all sections of the country, covering all
ages and all conditions.

Critics may continue to clamor for smart dialogue and
sophisticated comedy. Experiments with studio audiences
have proved that the listeners react best to the simplest
puns and to the most obvious situations. Radio has not pro-
duced great writers of comedy who have produced wit that
is robust and endearing. Specialists in this medium prefer
the stereotyped forms that can be turned out with least
effort. The best writers fight shy at writing original skits
for air production.

Radio comedians employ a writing staff, highly special-
ized. The ' 'situation" writers create the locale and the plot.
The gag men weave their jokes in and about the story. It is
left for re-write men to polish up the script. Because revue
sketches are as difficult to write as plays, the technique calls
for the condensation of inflated anecdotes within the scope
of a few pages, instead of over three acts. And from first to
last it must be calculated to hold the listener.

In the good old vaudeville days, comediajak could, with
safety, stick to their one act year after year. \|nce the com-
edy offering is flung nationwide over the air, the thing is
dead. Every radio skit thus has a short life and perhaps a
merry one. If it were humor of the eternal kind, it would
survive on the printed page.

Benjamin de Casseres finds the greatest danger that con-
fronts this country today is the absence of a national humor-
ist ''to inspect three-fourths of the things the country takes
over-seriously and loosen them up with gales of laughter."
The time is ripe for the arrival of a national humorist like
Will Rogers who will throw bombshells of wit to perpetuate
our democratic ideals. "Nothing," adds de Casseres, "takes
the sufficing out of a curved shirt like a well-aimed guffaw.

RADIO COMEDIANS ARE SUCH UNFUNNY PEOPLE 267

No wonder Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin fear those that make
fun of them more than they do the assassin's bomb."

Mort Lewis holds little hope for the future of radio comedy
unless the writer is left to his own devices without undue
sponsor interference. He gives a true picture of the condi-
tions that confront the writer of comedy:

"There are a few sponsors, thank heaven," says Lewis,
"who have sufficient confidence in their writers and produc-
tion men to leave them more or less alone. But a great many
sponsors insist on injecting elements which appeal to the
sponsor alone, and bore the audience. The writer, being on
the payroll must comply, or lose the program. A competent,
established comedian and his comedy writer should have
full sway on what comedy elements go into a program.

"There should be one boss on the program. There is one
well known program that has six or seven bosses. The re-
hearsal is a mad house, and the script writers don't know
whom they have to please. They get four or five different
suggestions for the week's script, each one contradicting the
other."

Comedy will continue to be of gravest importance on well
balanced programs. Radio today faces the enormous task
of the New Deal in Comedy.

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR

R\DIO has been called the "Handmaid of the Churches."
The microphone now spreads far and wide the doc-
trine of the moral life to multitudes who never have visited
churches or opened a religious book.

Services over the air began inauspiciously. On January 2,
1921, for the first time anywhere in the world, a minister's
voice spoke into the microphone. The voice was that of the
Reverend Edwin J. Van Etten, Rector of the Calvary Epis-
copal Church of Pittsburgh, pronouncing the vespers ser-
vice over Station KDKA. Listeners heard a homely parable
from the second book of Samuel, which called forth the
Rector's admonition: "When you are lost in the woods, fol-
low the rule of the open road — choose the better road at
every fork." Only a few hundred were privileged to hear
the broadcast through crystal sets, but bundles of apprecia-
tive letters encouraged the minister to repeat the service.
The powerful appeal of the radio pulpit was just beginning
to be realized.

Ten years passed before the Church of Rome adopted
the new medium. Through the munificence of Marconi, Sta-
tion HVJ (Holy Vatican Jesus) was established on Vatican
Hill. Pius XI was the first in history to pronounce over the
microphone a papal benediction to the faithful all over the
world. The pope sat at a draped desk in a tiny room and
through a golden microphone, came the quivering voice of
His Holiness in alloquy to all creation: "Qui arcane Dei
consilio succedimus loco Principis Apostelarum . . ."

The early history of radio preaching is the record of vio-
lent denominational battles on the air. Sunday thundered

268

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 269

his doctrinal preaching and critical attacks of the faiths one
upon the other. A high degree of sectarianism sought to
fulfill its mission of gathering in converts. Conditions grew
more and more discordant. No outside power had as yet
evolved any method to control the situation.

To-day the pulpit of the air is not regarded as a means of
inculcating dogma and creed, but is linked with education
as a social process and product. The authority of the radio
sermon lies in its emphasis on universal truths rather than
upon special doctrine. The minister becomes the special re-
former and the educator when he fights every form of social
wrong.

The National Broadcasting System, upon its organization
in 1927, gave impetus to a sort of voluntary code of religious
broadcasting. Shortly after the formation of the network, the
company took steps to place religious broadcasting on a
plane of greater dignity.

A standing committee consisting of representatives of the
Protestant, Catholic and Jewish faiths was appointed to con-
sider the question of the national dissemination of religious
doctrine over the radio. As a result of these conferences, the
National Broadcasting Company formulated the policies to
which it now holds:

1. Only such faiths are served as are the central or na-
tional agencies of great religious bodies, as, for example,
the Protestant, the Roman Catholic, and the Jewish faith,
as distinguished from the individual churches of small group
movements where the national membership is comparatively
small.

2. The religious message should be non-sectarian and non-
denominational in its appeal.

3. The religious broadcast should be of the widest appeal,
presenting only the broad claims of religion, which not only
aid in building up the personal and special life of the indi-
vidual, but also aid in popularizing religion and the church.

270 RAPE OF RADIO

4. The religious message broadcast should interpret re-
ligion at its highest and best, so that as an educational fac-
tor, it will bring the individual listener to realize his re-
sponsibility to the organized church and to society.

5. The national religious messages should be broadcast
by the recognized outstanding leaders of the several faiths
as determined by the best counsel and advice available.

The Columbia Broadcasting System adapted a policy simi-
lar to that of NBS in the fall of 1931, announcing that it
would not sell time for religious broadcasting. The issue
was brought to a climax by the vituperative sermons of
Father Coughlin, which up to then had been broadcast over
the networks under contract. This forced Father Coughlin
to engage the facilities of an independent network of twenty-
seven stations.

Free time is given in rotation to the major faiths. A half
hour each Sunday morning and afternoon is turned over to
the Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Christian Science, Mormon
and Dutch Churches. No discrimination is made against
other religious bodies, but time if offered only when time is
available and if the broadcast comes within the meaning of
public interest. Like NBC, the Columbia Broadcasting Sys-
tem makes the provision that all broadcasts shall be con-
structive in character and free from attack on members of
the clergy or lay members of any denomination.

Personality in Radio Preaching

The greatest problem of the Church of the Air has always
been the selection of religious leaders whose personality
would stand the test of the microphone. Failure in this field
has made possible the aspersion -that radio is the graveyard
of many a preacher. In principle, the responsibility of select-
ing preachers and religious programs is shifted by the net-
works upon lay or religious bodies, such as the Federation

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 271

of Churches of Christ in America for the Protestants, the
National Council of Catholic Men, for the Catholics, and the
United Synagogues of America for the Jews.

The measure of the preacher's power over the air lies in
those elusive qualities that make up the "radio personality."
All the native endowment and ability of the minister is
evident by his manner of speaking. The minister may ob-
serve all the rules of his art, but be "faultily faultless, icily
regular, and splendidly null." Some divine has said that a
man of small personality cannot preach a great sermon, and
a man of great personality, though he may preach a small
sermon, will yet put behind it such driving power that it
will seem great and have a great effect. Radio has a way of
disclosing the master qualities in preaching.

The Sunday radio pulpit found a preacher of powerful
personality in the late S. Parkes Cadman, who established
an enormous following. Dr. Cadman was the innovator of
the question and answer period as a regular feature of the
radio religious service. He carried over this method from
his unbroadcast hour which he had conducted for many
years at a Brooklyn Branch of the YMCA. At these meetings,
members of the audience at the close of his address were
privileged to ask questions affecting their personal prob-
lems. Dr. Cadman answered these questions impromptu.

The vogue of Dr. Cadman attracted the attention of NBC.
The minister was finally persuaded to broadcast over the
national network every Sunday afternoon. The first broad-
cast was conducted only as an experiment, but Dr. Cadman
virtually remains the first preacher in the United States
to have been heard regularly over the air. In 1928, he be-
came radio pastor for the Federal Churches of Christ in
America. He, himself, was the son of a minister who for forty
years had occupied the pulpit, but in one hour's sermon Dr.
Cadman reached more listeners than did his father during
those forty years.

272 RAPE OF RADIO

What secret lies behind Dr. Cadman's extraordinary ap-
peal? "Broadcasting was very difficult for me in those days,"
he confessed. "In addition to the tremendous responsibility
of trying to preach so that everyone, regardless of his faith,
would receive some spiritual guidance, I had the problem
of altering my entire technique. As a minister, my oratory
was of the fiery type; I gesticulated, walked up and down
the platform while speaking. With only a microphone to
catch my speech, I could no longer do that. If I walked away
from it, the radio audience would be tuned out. At the be-
ginning my friend, Halsey Hammond, secretary of the Y
where I conducted my weekly get-togethers, sat on the plat-
form with me. If I began to walk away from the microphone,
he gently tugged at my coat; if I was forgetting the invisible
audience, only considering the visible one, I got a tap on my
leg with his toe."

It was thus in the first instance that Dr. Cadman was able
to adapt himself to the microphone. Secondly, Dr. Cadman
was prompt to realize that the radio ministry is compelled
to speak with a tolerant attitude toward workers in denomi-
national fields other than his own. In many ways he disliked
sectarianism. With an unwearied enthusiasm in humanity
and no hesitation in attacking social problems in a militant
way, he had none of the scheming political approach of
Father Coughlin. Prizefights, jazz, tabloid newspapers, the
United States Senate — every phase of the contemporary
scene came under his analysis.

The "Question and Answer Period" of Dr. Cadman's
broadcasts established a relationship with his audience that
no other preacher had accomplished. Indeed, he anticipated
the audience participation programs by nearly ten years.
If the question echoed the listener's own problem, the
listener felt as if he were an active participant at the meet-
ing. He came to grips with their everyday situations.

"How can a father save his boy from being spoiled by an

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 273

over-indulgent mother?" . . . "Shall I marry outside my
faith?" . . . "What should a girl do who got mixed up in
a mess by taking advantage of this new freedom?" . . . "Should
I take military training in a school where it is compulsory
or shall I refuse pointblank?" . . . "How can I get a job?"
. . . "How can I make friends?" (This was in the days before
the good Dale Carnegie.)

The technique of question and answer was unconven-
tional but required some control. Questions were written
out on slips of paper by members of the audience and read
aloud by an assistant immediately after the formal address.
The discussion took on something of the nature of a lively
conversation. The secret of Dr. Cadman's art lay in that easy
charm which was his special gift — the ability to talk to people
and not at them. Although booming in his tone at times and
inclined to sharp stress, his resonant voice imparted to his
words a vigor that it is difficult to parallel in our present-
day radio preachers.

Let us submit one of the typical questions and answers.
The question: "Why do men demand so much of women
today without being willing to give them the protection of
marriage. What shall I do?" The answer of Dr. Cadman:
"Any man who claims he loves a woman and wishes to de-
grade her personality and destroy her self-respect is a hum-
bug, unworthy of one's friendship. Does the young man re-
vere you as the prospective mother of his children, does he
regard you as God's co-partner in creating life? If he does
not, have nothing to do with him."

The market crash of October 1929 lifted Father Coughlin
into national fame as the voice that spread hope and promise
of a new order. He began to preach politics and found a
ready ear in millions of Americans who, broken and crushed
by the economic tornado, were wondering where to flee for
shelter. Father Coughlin seized upon the mass emotions of
the people and provided them with the answer. He sought

274 RAPE OF RADIO

out the villains who were responsible for the economic
debacle, the "international bankers," "the money changers
in the temple," "the wolves in sheeps clothing who want to
shake hands with Soviet Russia."

During the years 1929, 1930 and 1931, the Catholic minis-
ter loomed up largely as the tribune of the people ready to
bring comfort to an outraged citizenry. He was even men-
tioned as a possible dictator. He declared over the air,
"When the ballot becomes useless, I shall have the courage
to stand up and agitate the use of bullets."

Father Coughlin's attacks on the administration of Presi-
dent Roosevelt were bold, merciless, and marked by vitupera-
tion. At the Townsend Old Age Pension Convention at
Cleveland in July 1936, he flayed the President as a "liar,"
"double-crosser," and "betrayer." His intemperate remarks
are said to have called forth the rebuke of the Vatican, and
compelled a full personal apology in an open letter to the
President. He claimed that his words would have been re-
strained had they not been delivered extemporaneously "in
the heat of civic interest and in righteous anger."

The fall of Father Coughlin was heralded by the over-
whelming vote of confidence the American people gave to
Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1936. Struck by the futility of his
appeal to the American electorate, Father Coughlin an-
nounced that he was leaving the air "forever," but in spite
of this announcement he continued as the critic of the
administration and the oracular voice of the National Union
for Social Justice which he had created.

At the outset of his career Father Coughlin's sermons
dealt largely with moral problems. More and more he began
to show his ability and courage in handling the social ques-
tions of the hour. Dr. John Haynes Holmes, a severe yet im-
partial critic of Father Coughlin, ventured to say in 1934
that Father Coughlin "has done us all a service in preaching
politics and herewith vindicating the mission of the church

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 275

to save society as the condition of saving men and women.
Indeed I would go so far as to assert that there is not a
Roman priest, nor a Protestant clergyman in America to-
day, who is not a freer man, in his preaching and public
service as a result of Father Coughlin's superb example of
plain speaking at the microphone."

Dr. Holmes appraised Father Coughlin's radio sermons
as an amazing personal performance that showed up the peril
of radio to the nation's life. "The mixture of good and bad
in this latest, most miraculous of man's inventions, and the
exclusive potency of this mixture, appeals to the imagina-
tion. In the Sunday afternoon addresses of Father Coughlin,
we see the radio at what may speedily become its worst and
certainly its most dangerous stage."

Father Coughlin used all the tricks of oratory to arouse
passion. He called the president a "liar," but later expressed
his sincere "apology" for his language. He knew how to vary
his effects so as to give the mind of the listener a chance to
recover. He led up to climaxes through artful periods of
calm. It was the manner of the earnest orator — the man
who carries the torch of propaganda into the very midst of
the enemy, winning hosts of adherents. His words came with
a soothing cadence and then changed to booming tonalities
that lifted the listener from lethargy to a fury of protest.
Father Coughlin's remarkable appeal required elaborate
preparation. He himself made no secret of it. He was well-
primed before he began to talk to his vast congregation of
the air.

"I write the discourse," he confided, "first in my own
language, the language of a cleric. Then I rewrite it, using
metaphors the public can grasp, toning the phrases down to
the language of the man-in-the-street. Sometimes I coin a
word to crystallize attention. Radio broadcasting, I have
found, must not be high hat. It must be human, intensely
human. It must be simple, but it must be done up in meta-

276 RAPE OF RADIO

phors. It must deal with something vital to the life of the
people. It must be positive."

An examination of his method shows that he is direct and
apparently factual, giving names, dates, figures, particulars.
It is one thing to call Will Rogers "The millionaire court
jester of the billionaire oil men"; it is quite another to name
the bankers and describe the abuse. At one time ironical
and at another time suggestive, Father Coughlin turns to
such images as these:

"Capitalism is a conspiracy against the immortal soul of
mankind. Marxian Socialism and Capitalism are Siamese
twins and both are blind. Shall it be Karl Marx or Jesus
Christ to lead us? The NRA is like a fine motor car but
equipped with flat tires. A capable driver is in the seat."
And there you have the personal method and philosophy of
a man who was likened by a woman biographer to "the
modern Savonarola stripping bare the vices of a materialistic
age."

Father Coughlin's sudden rise to prestige and power and
his swift dwindling of influence were equally phenomenal.
Multitudes regarded him as a fearless public leader, and
multitudes looked upon him as the "most vicious single
propagandist in the entire United States."

In 1926 Father Coughlin was an unknown Catholic priest
when he stepped before the microphone at the local station
WJR in Detroit. Only a few hundred people heard him
then, but from the first he showed a complete mastery of
the peculiar technique of radio. Soon he was to engage the
facilities of a national hook-up at a cost of fourteen thousand
dollars an hour. In 1933 he stood before a battery of micro-
phones at the Hippodrome in New York and preached cur-
rency inflation to an audience estimated at over thirty
millions.

In answer to a single radio appeal he received one million
two hundred and fifty thousand letters. By virtue of his

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 277

radio preaching he was able to erect the Shrine of the Little
Flower at an expense of more than a million dollars con-
tributed by his admiring listeners.

Time will appraise Father Coughlin in the right perspec-
tive. Those who called him "repetitious" and tiresome failed
to appreciate his talents. Severer critics look upon him as
possessing faults, which sooner or later were sure to be ex-
posed. In the first place, Father Coughlin spoke with pro-
phetic zeal on political and economic problems to which
he had not given extensive study. Secondly, he abandoned
reason for mass emotion, appealing to the prejudices of the
crowd, invoking their manias, and siding immediately with
the popular side of every issue. "It is from such wild winds
of fury," says Dr. Holmes, "that the storms of Fascism
spring."

Microphone Injunctions for the Minister

The Minister who wishes to be kind to the microphone
should heed certain injunctions:

1. Don't read in a ministerial tone, Some ministers are
accustomed to the "holier than thou' attitude when preach-
ing from the pulpit. On the air this approach is exhibited
vocally by a "ministerial whine." Every utterance rings with
exaggerated emotion. The pitch takes an habitual upward
slide at the end of sentences. Instead of deeply sincere re-
ligious appeal, the effect is one of mock seriousness. Ministers
should have records made of their sermons and study them
with a view to remedying this defect.

2. Don't deliver a sermon too "dramatically." Many min-
isters read Bible passages as if they were putting on a show.
There is such a thing as an excess of art. The ministers
should be Concerned with ideas, not with words. The mental
attitude should be that of communicating directly to the
hearers as one does in conversation.

3. An habitual over-use of strong stress jars the ear. The

278 RAPE OF RADIO

effect is often brutally sharp and dogmatic. A good sermon
should be like a wedge, all telling and to the point, but the
hammer strokes of heavy emphasis without subordination
destroy the feeling for communication. The conventional
touch is more effective for radio.

4. Over enunciation on the careful bits of consonants has
a cutting effect on the listener. Certain words demand more
precise pronunciation like: repent eth, thy, thine didst,
Whithersoever. To carry this over-precision to every word
is to mar the rhythm of conversation.

The radio preacher who draws attention to his vocal per-
formance defeats his purpose. He will lose the sense of
"gentleness" which is the gift of the masterful radio preacher.

Language That Lulls or Inspires

Radio preachment often loses force and character be-
cause the minister has tied himself down to language and
diction that is obscure. Ideas become obscured in the dark
clouds of rhetoric. Noble and reverent sentiments are
weighted by Latin phraseology. Abstract prepositions, rolled
out with solemn declaration, leave the listener in an abstract
mood.

The difference between a successful and a mediocre radio
preacher often lies in his choice of words and in his power
of imagery. Concrete words that suggest the visible object,
always are better than abstract concepts. Every word can be
made to tell the lively effect. The radio preacher should
study his sermon from the standpoint of its picture-making
influence on the listener. Suggestive words and phrases call
up images that are vivid and alive to the listener's ex-
perience. Great moral truths are often riveted upon the mind
by illustrations that linger in the memory long after the
sermon is forgotten. The deepest and most abstract things in
theology can be made understandable over the air, by this
art.

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 279

Monotony is the bugbear of all religious preachers on the
air. This is due to a persistent abundance of strong stress; a
cadence that is over lofty; a quality of voice peculiarly
tinged with super solemnity. It is a species of elocution,
long accepted and practiced in the leading theological semi-
naries. Sepulchral tones of exhortation miss true warmth
and spiritual quality. If this speech pattern is continued over
a quarter of an hour, the voice lulls the mind to drowsiness.
Organ music or sacred songs that follow the sermon come
as a welcome relief.

Does Radio Cramp the Preacher?

Many ministers believe that preaching is losing its power
and vitality because of the microphone. The Reverend James
M. Gillis, C.S.P., editor of The Catholic World, in an ad-
dress before the Institute of Human Relations, expresses
the opinion that broadcast sermons in most cases lessen the
effect of the minister's personality by half. "Personal mag-
netism," he said, "is required in preaching the word vastly
more than in any other form of public speaking."

It is recognized that preaching to a visible congregation
and preaching to unseen listeners are two different ap-
proaches. Not every minister can become efficient in both
arts. Many a preacher, like many a public speaker, becomes
demagnetized in the presence of a microphone. Radio
preaching imposes definite restrictions which binds the min-
ister down to the regulations of the network. Father Gillis
protests: "Religion is a flame, a fire, a battle. In such a
world as this the message of true religion should not be po-
lite, inoffensive. Quite naturally radio corporations and spon-
sors don't want disturbers on their program. They depre-
cate conflict of religious opinion. They demand that radio
preachers shall not give offense."

28o RAPE OF RADIO

The radio minister can bring about a baptism of spiritual
enthusiasm by studying the correct methods of appeal over
the air. He should have something to say and say it with
appropriate voice. The voice that preaches the message of the
Church should be the noblest voice that it is possible for
the denominational body to secure. His spirit should carry
over the microphone with warmth and sincerity. He should
have something of the inspirational touch so that his words
are impounded with ideas rather than sound.

Radio demands a more personal manner in religious
preachment from the vocal standpoint. The approach should
be in the more direct tone of conversation, varied by such
emotional changes as the thought inspires. If keyed in the
same pitch or exaggerated in melody, the religious message
often palls when it should exalt.

Empty Pews and Dialed-out Sermons

Successful preaching is never associated with empty pews
or with dialed-out receivers. The success of the radio minis-
ter depends not only on how he speaks but what he says.
The problem of writing the radio sermon becomes the most
perplexing of the minister's tasks. Some sharp criticism
on sermon composition has been made by the ministry
itself. Recently, the Rev. Dr. Frederick S. Fleming, Director
of Trinity Parish, startled the church world by suggesting
a moratorium on preaching for a period of one or two years.
"The sermons of today," he declared, "are for the most part
a very poor addition of topical homilies, a brand of religious
pep talks sailing forth for a transitory popularity under the
guise of being inspirational. There is practically no preach-
ing worth the name to be found."

If this be true radio offers the most powerful medium for
preaching of the higher type. So great is the influence of re-
ligion and so powerful the influence of men who speak from

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 28 1

their privileged position, that both the context and the man-
ner of speaking should be above the commonplace.

What is the predominant quality of successful preaching?
The answer given by the leading divines uses the one word
"interestingness." "Our obvious trouble," avers Dr. Fosdick,
"is that the mediocre sermon, even when harmless, is unin-
teresting. It could as well be unsaid."

The minister has the task of selecting an interesting theme,
and enriching it with illustration and application for the
personal lives of his audience. Dr. Fosdick urges these pre-
cepts on the minister who would aspire to the wider field
of broadcasting: "There is nothing that people are so in-
terested in as themselves, their own problems and the way
to solve them. The fact is basic. No preaching that rejects
it can raise a ripple on a congregation. It is the primary
starting point of all successful speaking, and for once the re-
quirement of practical success and ideal helpfulness coin-
cide."

The Bishop of Bristol in a broadcast before the war took
a hopeful view of radio preaching. Religious broadcasting,
in his opinion, spreads an atmosphere of greater spiritual
reality. Radio has not provided something in the nature
of a brand-new religion, but it has exercised a harmonizing
influence upon denominational divisions within the Chris-
tian Church. The formula in England for religious broad-
casting is much as in America. Both countries are confronted
with congregations of the air, varied in tastes and different
in opinion. How shall radio meet the situation? This is the
answer of the Bishop of Bristol:

"The form of service provided must be such as will satisfy
older worshipers, who long to hear familiar melodies and to
receive traditional exhortation and yet, at the same time,
attract younger worshipers who need to have religious val-
ues re-stated in terms of the New World in which they
are growing up."

282 RAPE OF RADIO

What's the Matter with the Radio Sermon?

The application of homiletics to radio preaching appears
quite simple. Perhaps the most successful radio preacher of
today is Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick whose Sunday message
over the air is a guiding light in the spiritual lives of hosts
of listeners. He has laid down several principles that will be
helpful to the radio preacher. "A sermon," according to Dr.
Fosdick, "may begin in any one of three ways. Two of these
ways are wrong. If the sermon begins with a text, or the
exposition of an idea, dullness and futility result. The other
way to failure is to have the genesis of the sermon in his own
interests."

Fosdick explains this type of minister as one who plays
Sir Oracle. "He is dogmatic, assertive, uncompromising. He
flings out his dicta as though to say to his hearers, 'Take it or
leave it.' He has settled the matter concerning which he is
speaking, and he is telling us." Father Coughlin often as-
sumed this manner, indulged in unrestrained, violent and
irresponsible statements. He gave the impression of a cleric
who easily becomes intoxicated by the sound of his own
voice.

The third and successful way to create a sermon is what
Dr. Fosdick calls "a cooperative enterprise" between the
preacher and his congregation. This seems the most desir-
able method with the congregation of the radio audience.

The radio preacher who is thinking of a real difficulty
in the lives of his listeners finds himself removed from dog-
matic thinking because there is a cooperative thinking be-
tween himself and his audience. Fosdick's definition of
preaching emphasizes the personal relationship of the min-
ister with the individual listener's own problems.

Successful radio preaching holds a powerful interest for
the listener when it is couched with persuasion. Fosdick's

THE CHURCH OF THE AIR 283

preaching is aimed at a transformation of personality. Any
preacher who can convey this subtle understanding to a
listener far removed from the cloistered walls of the church
is a master of the word of God.

"Preaching is wrestling with individuals over questions of
life and death, and until that idea of it commands a preach-
er's mind and method, eloquence will avail him very little
and theology not at all." Fosdick believes his technique
works. "People have literally come up after the sermons not
to offer some trivial complaint but to say, 'How did you
know that I was facing that problem last week?', 'I think
you understand my case. May I have a personal interview
with you.' " The real test for any radio sermon should be
"How many listeners are impelled to wish to see the preacher
alone?"

The method of the Master, measured in terms of our com-
plex age, serves today as a model. He spoke to the people
in their everyday language and made religion as plain and
practical to them as farming and fishing. His sermons were
always picturesque, besprinkled with humor, and made
realistic by the use of the parable and illustrations, drawn
from all sources.

Such a method is best adapted to the condition and needs
of the hearers whose attention and interest was at once cap-
tured. This is precisely what radio sermons today demand.
In the ancient days, the Pharisees and the scribes taught in
a way that has small relation to human affairs and needs.
"The fossilized ecclesiasts," says Dr. James H. Snowden,
"were droning away over hairsplitting questions of ortho-
doxy that were not of the least human interest or use. The
simple, charming teachings of Jesus came like a fresh breeze.
The people knew what he was talking about and were sur-
prised that it took hold of them with such fascinating in-
terest and power, exclaiming, 'A new teaching!' "

284 RAPE OF RADIO

How the Radio Preacher Can Lead

There are few great radio preachers today who are out-
standing prophets of this generation. Among the more dis-
tinguished leaders are the Reverend Dr. Harry Emerson
Fosdick, the Rev. William J. Finn, Rabbi Stephen J. Wise,
and the Rev. Daniel F. Poling.

The way lies ahead for improvement in microphone
preaching, so that the personality of a great mind impresses
itself on the listener with faith and understanding, with
sincerity and depth of conviction, with liveliness of emotion
that is in tune with common experience.

Radio religion can never take the place of public worship.
The words "synagogue" and "congregation" come from the
Greek and Latin words meaning "assembly." The radio
listener is external from the group that listens in the church.
The radio listener is not subject to those same influences
which may be possible in the House of God. A broadcast,
talk, or sermon may serve as a signpost to point out the way
to faith, but the minister's personal influence is wanting.
"Preaching is not a mere verbal communication," said the
Rev. James Gillis. "It is a ministry; but how can you minis-
ter to a man when you don't see him and when he is lolling
half-dressed on the couch smoking his pipe, his attention di-
verted from your discourse now by the family chit-chat, and
again by the alluring Sunday supplement?"

The undeniable benefits of the radio ministry, however,
are many. It has strengthened the spiritual teachings of the
church. It has supplied religious services in localities where
the churches were closed because of the depression. It has
provided a spiritual anchor to great numbers not connected
with any specific faith. It has increased religious tolerance.
Its ministrations have come to invalids, shut-ins, and those
in remote places who would otherwise lack the opportunity
of partaking in religious worship.

10

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES

PROPAGANDA is as old as the ages. The new thing
about it is the agency of broadcasting. Radio is the
almost universal vehicle of politics, nationalism, business
and trade, the world over.

Propaganda defies exact definition. It is ideology, a prin-
ciple, a mode of action. There is no morality in propaganda.
The sole test is whether it succeeds. Propaganda is acting,
the doing of things. Education is long range work, propa-
ganda is immediate: Education is slower.

Radio is believed to provide greater propaganda values
than the movies or the printed page. Leaflets and printed
matter may be showered on the people and never read. The
spoken word is more effective than the printed word. A
propagandist on the air rushes on, deals wholly with emo-
tions, and stays away from cold facts as far as possible.
Listeners are not trained to study the form of an address
nor to analyze its separate elements. He cannot study the
argument as from the printed page. His emotions are fused
by the power of oratory. The listener cannot heckle a speaker
nor talk back at him. He has the option of turning him
off, but the effective speaker weaves a spell, slows down the
thinking processes, and makes men and women behave like
sheep.

The persistent repetition of doctrine infiltrates swiftly
everywhere. Governments and communities, through radio,
crystallize opinion before the public has had a chance to
rationalize the issues.

Propaganda on the air is here to stay. National prepared-
ness includes not only plans for battleships and aircraft but

285

286 RAPE OF RADIO

also super-power broadcasting stations that reach targets
across the seas. Nations have turned to radio propaganda
for the coordination of their activities both within and
beyond their borders. Without radio the course of empire
may be held in the balance.

H. V. Kaltenborn once answered a hypothetical question
about radio as an instrument of propaganda. Said the com-
mentator: "If Ethiopia had been equipped with radio, Haile
Selassie could have drawn his empire together; could have
talked to all his different chieftains. Perhaps the outcome
would have been different."

Multi-Branched Radio Propaganda

Little study has been given to the matter of classifying
propaganda programs on the air. The following groups are
merely suggestive and are not mutually exclusive:

1. Promotion or publicity propaganda. Every hour on the
hour, there is a specialized promotion on the air which
brings the listeners the pet policies or special views of a wide
variety of organizations. These include public service cor-
porations, boards of commerce and trade, public and quasi-
public institutions. Such propaganda bespeaks every variety
of vested interest. Special relations counselors are employed
to create the persuasive type of radio appeal.

2. Civic propaganda. These appeals are general and em-
phasize the advantages which come to the community
through public action or civic enterprise. Thus the State
of New York Milk Control Board uses the air in a health
program designed to boost the sale of milk and help the
farmer. Appeals may be made to civic, patriotic and com-
munity pride and lead to some specific form of participation
such as cooperating in the New York World's Fair. One
typical example: In 1939 Carl Byoir made an appeal for the
A & P stores in defense of the chain store system on the

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 287

General Electric WGY (Schenectady) Farm Forum, frankly
announcing himself as a paid propagandist. In every City
Hall and State Capitol, propaganda is operated by every
conceivable vested interest.

3. Profit propaganda. Such programs are directed by
business enterprises, organizations and individuals who hope
to reap a profit directly or indirectly by a commodity or
service offered for sale. Included in such programs are those
designed to win markets and trade control. Special utility
companies, organizations like the National Electric Light
Association and the National Association of Manufacturers
find radio the best medium for their special propaganda.
They have ample funds to devote to radio which cannot
be matched by the consumers' and workers' groups. In 1937,
the NAM publicity fund grew to be over eight hundred
thousand dollars. The money spent for propaganda included
radio features such as "The American Family Robinson"
heard over two hundred and seventy stations. The MMA
spent over two million dollars in 1940 on public information
for a study of text books throughout the nation so that the
members might move against any that might be found
prejudicial to our form of government. Vice-President Wal-
lace said, when Secretary of Agriculture: "They (the busi-
ness men) have been led by their plutogogues (propaganda
men) to believe that government rules of the game should
be loaded in their favor.

Commercial propaganda is more of a science than ethical
and political propaganda. Sponsors have become experts at
selling goods over the air. They know the value of repeti-
tion. They play on the snobbish instincts of humanity,
emphasize the importance of buying to meet the demands
of social conformity. They play on fears of every kind,—
fear of halitosis, fear of obesity, fear of financial loss, and
disease.

Commercial propaganda is agreeable to the masses be-

288 RAPE OF RADIO

cause it encourages people to satisfy their cravings and
offers them a possible escape from their physical pains and
discomforts. When listeners are asked to buy luxuries or
to choose between two brands of a necessary commodity,
there may be nothing serious at stake. Danger may arise
if the listener allows himself to be influenced by sales propa-
ganda when physical cures are concerned.

4. Friendship and peace propaganda. This is an institu-
tionalized propaganda undertaken by some associations to
create friendly relations and mutual understanding or to
explain the causes of discord. The coat of arms of the British
Broadcasting Corporation displays the idealistic slogan,
"Nation Shall Speak Peace Unto Nation." Under this classi-
fication comes the exchange of programs of the British
Broadcasting Corporation and those of the American net-
works. Other types of friendship broadcasts are those that
seek to lure the tourist and extend a sort of personalized
welcome to the prospective traveler. Such programs play
upon the imagination of the listener by means of enchanting
songs, romantic tales, adventure dramatization and talks that
extol scenic beauties and delightful living conditions.

5. Reformist propaganda works for limited changes in the
social order. It seeks primarily to modify conditions to con-
form to a better standard of morals. Thus an attack may
be made over the air on bad housing conditions, the abuse
of WPA funds, neglect of education and the like. Reformist
propaganda is concerned with bringing about some change
in the existing political, economic or social structure.

6. War propaganda. This is necessary in wartime to arouse
and intensify animosity against the enemy and to attract
mutual support. The national hatred is mobilized by pres-
sure groups, and the enemy is represented as menacing,
aggressive violators of moral and conventional standards.
Even music is enlisted in the cause of war propaganda.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 289

Totalitarian leaders order only heroic and martial strains
be played, — no dance or comedy programs.

7. Peace propaganda. Advocates for peace exercise power-
ful radio propaganda campaigns. In the event of war
they would probably be silenced. Network stations are
not prone to refuse requests of organized peace societies
for free time on the air. The National Peace Conference
reports that during the first five months of 1937 local stations
carried one thousand three hundred and eighty-six peace
programs. Both NBC and CBS carried the regular peace
broadcasts over the networks. From one hundred and fifty
to two hundred local stations broadcast a weekly service for
World Peaceways and the League of Nations Association.

8. Revolutionary propaganda. New regimes are particu-
larly dependent on the use of radio for the acquisition and
consolidation of power. Radio as a medium for political
and military propaganda is effective when one group within
a country seizes control of a government from another group.

The first goal of all revolutionists is to capture the radio
station of the party in power. The Spanish revolutionists
seized the throne and Alfonso's wireless station at the same
time.

In a recent address in Berlin Dr. Goebbels, Minister of
Propaganda, frankly exposed the "capture of the wireless"
in 1933 by the Nazis — who had previously been vigorously
excluded from its use.

"When the Fiihrer was called to power in the midday
hours of January 30, 1933," says Dr. Goebbels, "the historic
fact was communicated to the German people by wireless.
An historic event had occurred. A revolution had begun.
Only a few hours later the revolutionary masses rolled
through the streets of Berlin and passed through the Wil-
helmstrasse before the Reich President and the Fiihrer. All
Germany was in turmoil. Only Broadcasting House in the
Masuren Allee lay still — far from the noise of the city, with-

2 90 RAPE OF RADIO

out light, not, indeed, without staff, but without leaders.
The latter, after closing down, had gone home in the accus-
tomed belief that they had done their duty."

And further: "At that point revolutionary National-
Socialists, without office or permission, entered the Broad-
casting House, loaded microphones and apparatus on to
taxicabs, motored to the Reich Chancery, and from there
enabled the German people to share through the ether in
the capital's national upheaval. Broadcasting had become for
the first time political."

The political control of German broadcasting has re-
mained complete. All radio transmitters are owned and
operated by the German post-office, with programs supplied
by the German Broadcasting Company, itself government-
owned. From his Berlin office, the Minister of Propaganda
dictates.

In his autobiographical work, "The Struggle for Berlin,"
Goebbels coldly states: "Propaganda in itself has no funda-
mental method. It has only one purpose, — the conquest of
the masses. Every means that serves this end is good."

German propaganda includes the organization of the
population into a listening machine. In 1935, the govern-
ment issued millions of "Peoples Receivers," cheap receiving
sets which the industry was compelled to build. A "Labor
Front Receiver" was installed in factories and in business
premises for collective use. Each of the thirty-nine Nazi
party Gaue (regions) has a Gaufunkwart or district radio
officer. The one thousand districts of Germany are each
under the direction of a subordinate radio official. When the
Berlin office makes a decree of community reception, this
army of radio lieutenants gets busy and every factory, public
square and school is provided with receivers and amplifiers.
It is estimated that about three-quarters of the German
people listen in.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 2Q1

Government Propaganda

The administration's use of radio for propaganda is a
necessary part of any democratic system. Public questions
must be presented to the people with information and argu-
ment. The President and his Cabinet constantly use the air.
The NRA was "sold" to the people by the aid of the loud-
speaker in the home. Various government departments have
exploited their achievements through dramatizations and
addresses by key officials. The use of the networks is freely
offered to members of Congress, to fortify administration
appeal or to set in motion opposite points of view.

The President's "fireside chats" are regarded as quasi-
propaganda, quiet, amiable, and pervasive. Some publicists
like George E. Sokolsky, believe that the President by the
use of radio developed a mass pressure upon Congress, which
made the seventy-fourth Congress a rubber stamp. Radio
exerts its powerful pressure upon the public which in turn
forces pressure upon Congress.

It is difficult to determine whether government officials
speak as private individuals or as servants of the State.
Elected or appointed officials often step into the domain of
propaganda. Critics of the administration may fight back
with counter-propaganda, but this is only possible if they are
granted access to the microphone.

Serious measures were taken by the Federal Communica-
tions Commission to expand radio programs directed from
the United States to Latin America. The means were at
hand. Four channels had been set aside for the use of the
Americas by international agreement in 1931. It was not
until February 19, 1938, however, that the hearing was held
which allocated two of these short wave frequencies to the
General Electric Company over Station 2WXAB, with
powerful one hundred kw. broadcasts. The other short-
wave frequencies were allocated to the Worldwide Broad-

RAPE OF RADIO

casting Corporation of Boston, whose Station WIXAL is
also high powered. Rigid conditions were laid out for the
use of newly allocated frequencies. Commercial and adver-
tising announcements are completely banned.

General Electric Company's station began its Latin
American programs on March 4, 1938, the major portion
of its broadcasts being in the Portuguese language.

The programs of the World Broadcasting Corporation
are directed to Latin America five times a week. It is a non-
profit organization subsidized by a grant from the Rocke-
feller Foundation and its charter indicates its altruism: "To
produce and broadcast programs of a cultural, educational
and artistic and spiritual nature and to arrange for the
interchange of constructive radio programs throughout the
world."

The Latin American programs of the National Broadcast-
ing Station and the Columbia Broadcasting System both
operate under an experimental license. These experimental
programs cost the companies over $100,000 yearly. The
expense is charged off to prestige, public and patriotic
service and good will in Washington. Besides there was
always a hope that the FCC may toss a juicy plum into the
lap of the networks by allowing short wave advertising.

Frank E. Mason, vice president of the NBC, testified at
the FCC investigation in 1938 that the networks' Latin
American broadcasts exceeded those of other nations. In
1938 they totaled sixty-three hours a week, compared with
fifty-six for Germany, nine hours and fifty-five minutes for
Italy and seven hours for Japan.

The United States disavows propaganda by radio. The
FCC would have all programs cultural and educational.
Carleton Beals, however, finds our broadcasts larded with
propaganda and a steady drone for the Hull reciprocity
treatises. "Our broadcasts," he says, "even if truly educa-
tional, inevitably become propaganda for a way of life, the

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 2Q3

American way of life. They seek a purpose to create friend-
ship, to sell goods to bar other foreign competition."

The danger is that the Latins in the long run may become
inimical to our propaganda as we are to the foreign propa-
ganda dinned in our ears. "For Latin America," warns Beals,
"democracy is still a revolutionary concept, capable of tum-
bling down governments. To advocate it is propaganda. It
is propaganda, far more revolutionary there, far more an
alien doctrine than either totalitarianism or communism."

Shall the Government Step In?

In the war of propaganda, fears grip the broadcasters that
the Government will erect and maintain stations of its own.
Many publicists urge that the Government take active
measures to meet propaganda by propaganda. The efforts
of private companies to cooperate with the government in
sending of programs to South America is deemed com-
mendable, but the government is put in the position of
asking favors from the stations which owe their very exist-
ence to its licensing.

What the networks fear most is the first opening wedge
into the system of private control of broadcasting. Bills for
the establishment of government stations have been intro-
duced into Congress. One of these measures directed the
Secretary of the Navy to construct a government radio sta-
tion at Washington with the Commissioner of Education in
charge of programs. Congressman Celler in 1937 urged the
passage of his bill which provided that a government station
be designed for national and Pan-American service, for the
use of the President, members of the Cabinet, bureaus and
departments, and for the interpretation of the various gov-
ernmental activities by bureaus and departments.

The handwriting of the government is not yet on the wall,
but cold chills run down the spine of private stations. They

294 RAPE OF RADIO

paint a sad picture of the mess we will get into when
broadcasting at Washington becomes the tool of politics.
There are hosts of supporters for a government station who
claim that a government station in reserve, would take the
haughtiness out of those private broadcasters who show the
slightest sign of discriminating against the party in power.

Sponsor Propaganda

Propaganda has crept into commercial programs with
alarming frequency. The policy of the networks, it is true,
is not to sell time for propaganda of any sort. Sponsor prop-
aganda is voiced by a spokesman who may be a newspaper-
man, an ex-minister, a news commentator, a public relations
counsel — a plutogogue as Prof. T. V. Smith of the Univer-
sity of Chicago chose to call the hired voice.

The crowning example of suave and subtle propaganda
is the Ford Sunday Hour. William A. Cameron, one time
editor of the Dearborn "Independent," takes to the air be-
tween symphony numbers to bespeak the mind of Henry
Ford.

Advertising is the oldest form of propaganda. It has de-
veloped concurrently with the rise of the press and the
expansion of commerce, but the methods of propaganda
are employed in other fields today, especially in politics. The
devices are borrowed from commercial advertising. The"
newspaper advertisement, the placard, the demonstration,
the political speech with all the new methods of advertising,
are all employed to persuade the consumer to buy new
goods or services which have been offered to him.

On the NBC network, the "Voice of General Motors"
has been heard not only extolling automobiles, but ven-
turing forth into matters of employment, wage levels, and
the "American system." On the CBS network, the Chase Na-
tional Bank, cooperated with forty-five affiliated financial

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 2Q5

institutions, provided a business forum enlivened with
orchestral music.

John T. Flynn in the Town Meeting of the Air in April,
1938, described the insidious effect of such programs in this
wise: "On Sunday evening the family is gathered in the
living room when into their midst float the strains of music
from a great symphony orchestra . . . then as the strains
of some well-loved old song fade from the air and the family
sits around, thoroughly softened up, there floats into the
room and into the unguarded chambers of their minds
the voice of the propagandist. For five or ten minutes the
planned infection flows into the monster. It tells of the
romantic sage of business, the great achievements, the mas-
sive wisdom, the matchless courage, the civilizing alchemy
of the great business man as distinguished from the selfish
and narrow ignorance and wickedness of the Government —
the great-souled business leader compared with the small-
minded and vicious senator."

Let us examine a typical passage from a recent "sermon-
ette" of William A. Cameron. In reviewing the historical
progression of America's fears, Cameron said:

"The uncurbed mobs, the wild-cat money, the plagues,
the sectional divisions, all have passed away. They were
temporal. The schools, inventions, liberties, the social prog-
ress have remained, — they are spiritual. And that is what is
occurring today if we had eyes to see. The best is yet to be,
the last for which the first was made. Here is the factual
foundation of our faith in the ever-dawning future."

The average listener will not submit such utterances to
analysis. He will be overcome by generalities. The thinking
person will closely evaluate. He will want a definition of
such lofty words as "liberties," "social progress," "spiritual."
The underfed and unemployed will hardly share Cameron's
concept of "our faith in the ever-dawning future."

John Vernon in New Masses has noted that Cameron

2g6 RAPE OF RADIO

never comes out openly against anything but takes many a
backhanded slap at the present administration. 'Tor in-
stance," says Vernon, "on March 13^ 1938, Cameron
asserted 'Leg irons must be taken off the nation's productive
forces.' In other words let's take the country out of the
hands of Washington and entrust it once more to the tender
mercies of the bankers."

Belligerent Short Waves

The dream of radio as a powerful force for international
good will is engraved on the legend over the portals of the
British Broadcasting Corporation: "Nation Shall Speak
Peace Unto Nation." Yet the "Radio War" goes on inces-
santly, day and night. Impartial observers estimate that more
than half the programs sent out by the totalitarian states are
open or veiled propaganda. The air is belligerent with
polyglot communication.

The entrance of the United States into Latin American
broadcasting can be traced to radio propaganda by foreign
countries. Italy has consistently used the radio to sway the
sentiment of the Moslem world of North Africa, Egypt,
Arabia, Transjordania, Iraq and Palestine. Broadcasts came
in Arabic from the Bari station. Their purpose was to under-
mine Britain's prestige and influence among millions of
Moslems who had hitherto looked upon the King of
England as the defender of the faith. Mussolini boldly pro-
claimed himself as the Protector of Islam. Radio "news"
was invented, falsely accusing the British of using poison gas
on the Arabs.

Britain sprang to its own defense with a radio counter-
offensive. A new language policy was instituted. Previous to
1937 the British had insisted on talking to the world in
English. Close study was given to the problem by the Ulls-
water Committee which reported that "in the interest of

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 2Q7

the British prestige and influence in world affairs, we think
that the appropriate use of language other than English
should be encouraged." And so on March 15, 1937, the
British put into practice the propaganda language policy of
European states. "Say it in the language of the country you
are aiming at." The forty million inhabitants of Brazil were
regaled in Portuguese and the other forty-five million in-
habitants of South America in Spanish. Special announcers
handled the programs in Arabic to the fourteen million
Moslems of the Near East.

The British, learning from experience, sought to make
their programs attractive. Italy's crooner called Abdul Wahab
held public fancy as the Bing Crosby of the East. It was
necessary to employ showmanship and match him with a
Picadilly dance band and various Moslem singers. As an
escape from the usual practice, the British decided to intro-
duce a straight news service in several languages.

British officials lean to the opinion that programs aimed
directly at propaganda defeat their own purpose. A recent
report to the International Broadcasting Council at Geneva
frankly admits: "The reactions of the listener to what he
suspects to be propaganda or sectarian views are not only
negative, but fundamentally detrimental to the cause to
which it is desired to attract or force his opinion."

Italy and Germany were the first to beam their short
waves to South America in order to "entertain" the re-
publics. The German strategy is to arrange with the South
American nations to intercept the short waves rebroadcast
so that the program comes over the local station loud and
distinct. Carlton Beale in "The Coming Struggle for Latin
America" makes the astounding revelation about ninety per
cent of Guatemala's programs are Berlin broadcasts. Ger-
many, Italy, and Japan followed up its broadcasts with offers
of free books, pamphlets, news service, radio sets, actors
and exchange professors. German directional transmitters in

298 RAPE OF RADIO

operation since 1934 have the greatest clarity of reception
and represent most advanced technical improvement.

The purpose of these broadcasts is an open secret. Their
primary aim is to prove that republics are decadent and that
society is depending on the new totalitarian order for its
salvation. The lure of trade and security is held out with
"Sure Fire" programs that suit the taste of the South Ameri-
can Republics. As a groundwork for the sale of goods, the
Germans first sell ideas to Latin Americans. The German
voice solemnly declares that Germany leads the world in
cultural and industrial achievements.

Propaganda boldly emphasizes the thesis that "Democratic
nations are crumbling." Nazism is the salvation of the
world. America is honeycombed with strikes. We have no
strikes in Germany. If you order goods from us you will not
only get a superior product but you will be sure to get them.
Take no chances."

In addition, German propaganda is designed to reach
German-speaking people within foreign territory. Germans
in the United States and Latin America are cajoled to or-
ganize to perpetuate the Nazi creed. Contact is made with
the foreign representatives of the Fiihrer in each country.

Wooing Latin America

Our country has felt uneasy about the invasion of Ger-
many in the Western Hemisphere. To this end our enormous
defense program has been instituted. The Germans believe
that the Monroe Doctrine is just a paper barricade against
radio programs that bounce through the loud speaker with
seductive music.

How to Be a Radio Propagandist

Propaganda on the air is not an exact science and so the
propagandist is not always sure that he is following the right

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 2 99

path. However, experience has evolved certain new radio
techniques. The subject is being delved into by new various
organizations.

The Institute for Propaganda Analysis in New York City
under the direction of Prof. Clyde R. Miller has made clear
many of the major devices of radio propaganda. We select
from radio's bag of tricks a few of the more widely used
methods, some of them morally indefensible.

1. Take advantage of the psychological principle that
people in the mass are poor judges of their own interests.
They are ready to flitter from one proposition to another
without reasoning. Radio is seductive. It can hold out prom-
ise to lure men and women with a siren song. On the promise
of a new security they are tempted to fling away the old to
which they have clung with fears. For quick results, search
for signs of preferences of your listeners which do not
require deliberation. Aldous Huxley thus analyzes the weak-
ness of men: "Dictatorial propaganda, which is always
nationalistic, or revolutionary propaganda, is acceptable
because it encourages men and women to give free rein to
their pride, vanity and other egotistical tendencies and
because it provides them with psychological devices for
overcoming their sense of inferiority."

2. Attach to your appeal some slogan which in words is
equivalent to a goal symbol. The slogan becomes indelibly
written on the mind. The Spanish Loyalist, "La Pasionaria,"
during the siege of Madrid, brought in thousands of volun-
teers with her plea, "Better to die on one's feet than live
on one's knees."

3. Repetition is the mother of success. Keep on repeating
your slogan or goal symbol. This will not only realign your
listeners to a new scheme of behavior but will create in them
a zeal that is infectious. Dr. Goebbels lays down this for-
mula: "The intellectuals say that the more often a theme
is repeated the less interested the people. This is not true.

3OO RAPE OF RADIO

When I possess the talent to find even more Draconic and
sharper arguments, then the public will not lose interest. On
the contrary, the interest will increase."

4. Broadcast news in the language of the country to which
your short waves are directed. Germany uses a cultured
Oxford voice to get its point across. Remember that Italy
broadcasts regularly in fifteen languages including Hin-
dustani, Arabic, Portuguese, Hungarian and Japanese.

5. Broadcast lessons in your native language to the coun-
try to which your appeal is directed. Brazil can tune in on
lessons in the Italian language coming from Rome; and on
German lessons from Berlin.

6. Minimize. Exaggerate. Interpret a local strike in the
United States as a symbol of a major revolution; the draining
of a swamp is evidence of the "restoration of the grandeur
of the Roman Empire."

7. Make your news broadcasts misleading, by sending
them out incomplete and with omissions. Newpapers in
Latin America which cannot afford the expensive wire
service regularly pick up German and Italian broadcasts of
the news free. Hence it is important to add Hitler's sauce
and Mussolini's spice to the tidbits that are offered. There
is no way to stop the static from "frying" the waves unless
the transmitter is destroyed.

8. Attack the middle from both ends at the same time.
The journalist, Chester T. Crowell, in a survey of air
propaganda for Collier's Weekly, gives this example: "The
German Broadcast represents Uncle Sam as a raging and
dangerous imperialist with sinister purposes toward Latin
America but he is also a very sick man with the virus of
Russian Communism in his veins and sometimes he is suf-
fering from incipient death."

9. Blanket foreign broadcasts that smack of counter-
propaganda. Both the Russians and the Germans delight in
this game. Broadcasts from Moscow in the German language

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 301

are blotted out by Berlin, and Russia does the same to pro-
grams in Russian coming from Berlin. Germany has been
accused of putting the damper on American programs
directed to Latin America.

A German trick is to fudge a bit toward the frequency
of an English channel, just as an English news broadcast is
coming to a close, and pick up where the Englishman stops.
The voice of the German broadcaster will be as English as
that of the original speaker; consequently the listener might
readily assume that he was still listening to Daventry.

10. Mobilize national hatreds for war propaganda. This
is the "name-calling" device which appeals to hates and
fear. Represent the enemy, actual or menacing, as a mur-
derous aggressor, a violator of humanity and international
morals. Maintain this hostility by an assurance of ultimate
victory and represent all of your allies strenuously aiding
in your course and protecting common values. This will help
in preserving friendly relations and will keep the fire of zeal
burning in those countries that lend a helping hand. Broad-
casting is often the one means of the mobilization of senti-
ment that is cheaper than bribery, violence or other control
techniques. War propaganda calls for cooperation of the
whole population as a military unit in action. Radio appeals
along these lines emphasize the need for the physical and
moral support of the masses for national self-preservation.

11. Make use of the "card-stacking" device of Dr. Goeb-
bels which makes it impossible to have anything said over
the air except what the Government wishes to have said.

12. Make use of the "plain folks" strategy. Hitler and the
Nazi leaders are represented as "men of the people" and the
Nazi ideals are portrayed as the salvation of the masses.

13. Employ the "testimonial" subterfuge. Nothing is right
which Hitler does not approve and whatever he sanctions
cannot be wrong.

14. At the proper moment, resort to the "transfer trick"

3O2 RAPE OF RADIO

to confer reverence and glorify esteem upon the leader of
your principles. Thus Hitler, the former sign-painter, is the
"man sent from Heaven."

15. Appeal to the historic traditions and the racial purity
of your people. Denounce the former government as insti-
tuted by communists, radicals and Jews.

It is thus seen that the task of the radio propagandist
is to achieve a goal by fair means or foul. The goal need not
immediately be exposed. The unchanging aim of such propa-
ganda is to intensify attitudes favorable to his purpose,
to reverse attitudes, to win the indifferent or at least to
prevent a group or section from breaking out in antagonism.
This is the point where the creative genius of the radio
propagandist is tested. He must be a producer in the strictest
sense and be able to create those programs that will best
accomplish his ends.

The Battle for Thought Control

The Japanese prefer to call their combination of censor-
ship and propaganda "thought control." Because radio
propaganda works adroitly on human nature in the raw, it
has become an important agency in thought control of whole
populations. The love of power, according to Bertram Rus-
sell, is a normal part of human nature responsible for this
inordinate use of propaganda.

Dr. Goebbels holds the thinking capacity of the average
man in contempt. He justifies any means to the end: "The
people think primitively. The intelligence is subject to a
thousand temptations, but the heart beats with its steady
beat. The ordinary man hates nothing more than two sided-
ness when called upon to consider this as well as that. The
masses think simply and primitively. They love to generalize
complicated situations and from their generalizations to
draw clear and uncompromising conclusions."

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 303

Can this virus of radio propaganda be counteracted?
Liberal thinkers believe that youth should be trained in
propaganda-analysis so that they will not succumb to the first
blasts of the radio orator.

Several courses in propaganda have been introduced ex-
perimentally in twenty-five high schools of New York. The
subject is inter-related to civics and the social studies take
this approach: Examples of propaganda, both foreign and
domestic, are brought into the classroom, Radio speeches,
newspaper editorials, current motion pictures, are dissected
under the glare of "truth and accuracy." Students are taught
to search for motives at every step.

At Evander Childs High School in New York City, the
study of propaganda analysis has been dramatized to capture
the interests of the youth. A play entitled "Snow White and
the Seven Propaganda Devices," presented by the pupils,
challenged all types of propaganda. Beautiful Snow White
(Gullible Public) is unable to make up her mind about the
Neutrality Act. Pulling her in every direction are the seven
little dwarfs of propaganda — Glittering Generalities, Band-
wagon Trick, Transfer Device, Testimonial Trick, Plain
Folks, Name Calling, and Card Stacking. After a severe
buffeting, Snow White is saved from utter destruction by the
charming Prince (Critical Thinking).

As they come upon the scene, the seven Propaganda De-
vices chant in unison:

"Oh, we are the seven devices,

We turn up in time of crisis;

We play upon your feeling,

We set your brain a-reeling.

We are seven active contrabanders,

We are seven clever propaganders."

Then the master propaganda device of all — Name Calling
— sings suggestively:

304 RAPE OF RADIO

"Of course when problems are appalling
We employ device name-calling.
If you don't know how to reason why,
Just tack a label on the other guy."

Professor Clyde R. Miller, Director of the Institute for
Propaganda Analysis, believes that there may be an answer
in this method: By having people approach controversial
problems not as antagonists or protagonists but as students
of the propaganda which flows from the conflicts these prob-
lems represent. It must be remembered that propaganda
is nothing more than the opinions and actions of special
individual groups which affirm opinions and notions of other
individuals and groups.

A student may ask the following: (i) What does the state-
ment say? (2) What does it mean? (3) Who says it? (4) What
are his interests? (5) Why does he say it? (6) Does the channel
through which it appears, newspaper, newsreel, radio, give
it added emphasis or does it distort itself by color or censor-
ship? (7) Which ones do I believe? (8) Why do I believe
them?

In brief students approach the controversy from the scien-
tific angle, they strain out emotions, they will get the facts
in pretty much the same fashion as a scientist gets at facts.
By this method, we can check against our own prejudices,
biases, convictions, ideals, as well as those of others.

Many point to the success of consumers' organizations
educating the public to detect fraudulent commercial claims.
When people discover the means by which they have been
duped, they are likely to be on their guard. In the same way,
it is possible to teach people to be on their guard about the
motives and methods of those who would control their
thinking.

The Group Leaders Guide to Propaganda Analysis is an
experimental study project prepared by the Institute of

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 305

Propaganda Analysis. Courses in propaganda analysis have
been extended experimentally to five hundred and fifty
schools and colleges throughout the country.

Dr. James Bryant Conant, president of Harvard Univer-
sity, speaking on "Defenses Against Propaganda," over CBS,
said:

"By considering the pros and cons of historic debates of
previous generations, a student can exercise his own judg-
ment on matters of political importance relatively unham-
pered by the propagandist. Every citizen should be taught
fundamental principles of American constitutional govern-
ment. Youth should be made acquainted with the psychology
of public opinion and the methods of manipulating this
opinion commonly employed. There should be instilled in
him the importance of due process of law and the meaning
of justice and liberty under the American constitution. These
broad principles are to be taught by social, scientific, and
literary history of this country, as well as a mature study of
the historical problems of the past."

Members of the Society for the Psychological Study of
Social Issues meeting in Berkeley in 1939, decided to analyze
war propaganda in the hope of persuading Americans to
weigh facts. Dean Carl Ackerman of the Columbia School
of Journalism holds the same point of view. "The People of
the country are not boobs," he declared with fervor. "They
have sound common sense and are ready to reach honest
American conclusions after they have listened to or read
news dispatches and comments, considered facts and applied
discrimination of judgment to the facts and opinions as
presented by the different sides of the European war."

Professor Robert K. Spear of New York University only
recently advised setting up in each high school and college
"a unit of instruction on propaganda analysis to provide
some means for a cool evaluation of the propaganda playing
upon our prejudices, loyalties and free disquisition." Train-

3O6 RAPE OF RADIO

ing in listening and rapid analysis of the substance of the
speech and the style of oratory should be part of the cur-
riculum. In addition speeches given over the air as they
appear in print should be subjected to a more careful
analysis for logical content and proof. The cold print will
dissociate facts and logic from vocal tricks and hysterical
oratory.

As a second means of heightening resistance to propa-
ganda, Aldous Huxley suggests that people be trained to
subject the devices of the propagandist to critical analysis,
and to examine all metaphors, personifications, and abstrac-
tions to the most searching analysis. Empty words will not
fool the listener so easily because they will be instantly
translated into the real thing. Noble verbiage will not get
by so easily.

The politician, the churchman, the statesman, the dictator,
will not indulge in flights of hokum when he is made to
realize that listeners will not accept them unless they make
their meanings clear by the use of concrete terms. The
tendency to be tyrannized by exalted words will remain one
of the anomalies of human nature.

Stuart Chase, in the Tyranny of Language, made it plain
that words can have meaning only in specific context, only
by limited definition or in relation to immediate referents.
The trick of the propagandist is to use abstractions and per-
sonifications and a lot of meaningless generalizations.

As an example, the economist analyzes such lofty plati-
tudes as this, uttered by Goebbels: "The Aryan Fatherland,
which has nursed the souls of heroes, calls upon you for the
supreme sacrifice . . . which will echo forever down the
corridors of history."

The same, subjected to Chase's semantic translation, is
exposed as nonsense: "Blab . . . blab . . . has nursed the
blab of blabs, calls upon you for the blab-blab . . . which

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 307

will echo down the blabs of blab." For the effectiveness of
this style try it on yourself.

Thirdly, as part of the education against propaganda,
the listener must be taught to dissociate the idea intended
from all slogans and catch-words. Radio has a way of fasten-
ing a slogan in the ears of the public. Once the slogan is
ripped off the argument, facts become more patent, and
reason instead of fancy and passion rule.

Some one has suggested that if radio propaganda were
seeking a slogan of its own it might choose, "Don't think!
Listen, Believe."

The Voice of Propaganda

The propagandist is often the perfect trickster in the use
of the voice. Experience teaches the speaker just what vocal
effects bring the desired responses. Hitler had seventeen
years of speechifying behind him before he attained his high
post. The future was to be devoted to the time-tried tricks
he had learned during his kampf. Dr. Goebbels has more
faith in the superiority of the spoken word over all forms
of propaganda.

A study of the propagandist should include his system of
rhetoric and management of the voice. The propagandist is
prone to indulge in endless repetitions and sweeping gen-
eralizations. Arguments are clinched by platitudes and the
rhetorical question frequently indulged.

The agitator over the air must give evidence of strength
and confidence by strength and confidence in voice. He is a
master of exhibitionism in voice and plays at theatrical
changes to achieve results. He even weeps. "We can always
get Adolph to weep," Goering was supposed to have said
about the Feuhrer.

The propagandist gathers vocal momentum from phrase
to phrase. The voice surges to emotional heights. A series

308 RAPE OF RADIO

of climaxes marks his appeal. The ending is often a scream
of defiance. Hitler's vocal cords break under the strain of
his "gutteral thunder." As the tumult of words tumble from
his lips, the voice ends in the frenzied shriek, "Heil Deutsch-
land!" or "Sieg! Sieg!"

The quiet and reflective type of orator is least effective
as a propagandist. The mob is more easily affected by a
display of emotionalism evidenced by dynamic changes in
pitch and volume and qualities of voice that echo the strong-
est inner feeling of anger, courage, revenge, sorrow and the
like. The voice of a radio propagandist should seem inspired.
The listener is whipped into line by appeal to the crudest
emotions and common hatreds.

Huey Long indulged in crude shouting when he promised
salvation for all on the "share the wealth" plan, but he had
that colloquial touch which brought the mob within his
fold. Father Coughlin plays on the entire gamut of his vocal
gifts but his flights of oratory betray him as a flamboyant
demagogue rather than a thinker.

The Radio Newspaper

Time was before the printed word, when news spread
only through gossip. The age of oral communication has
returned in the form which H. V. Kaltenborn has called the
"Fifth Estate." Millions today would rather get the news
through the ear than through the eye.

Spot news was once the monopoly of the daily press. The
swift progress of radio in the dissemination of the news
forced the press to yield the crown. The birth of spot broad-
cast began with the election returns of the Harding cam-
paign of 1920. For over ten years after that, radio stations
freely helped themselves to the news. As soon as it appeared
in print, they passed it on over the air. The common prac-

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 3OQ

tice was to sell news programs to advertisers of soaps, laxa-
tives, depilatories and every variety of produce.

Two influences brought about the battle of the Press with
the Fifth Estate. First came the depression of 1929. Adver-
tising revenues of newspapers suddenly dropped to low
levels while radio, by contrast, was waxing fat on profits.
Secondly, radio had created the news commentator whose
stylized news reports captured an enormous audience avid
for the news.

The newspaper looked with alarm at this invasion of their
property rights. The situation demanded a restraining hand.
There is an absurd monotony in the oral presentation of
news. Major events as well as trivialities in the news are
treated on the same level.

The dispatches and commentaries during the European
War crisis proved the whetted eagerness of the public to
read the printed statement of the news. There is a class of
listeners that does not fully believe the news until it has
been set up in print. This may explain why many listeners
write in for a printed copy of a speech or report.

In the early days the commentator loomed up as a dan-
gerous enemy of the Press. The cry arose that commentators
were filching the news. A few cents dropped on the news
stands and they could walk away with the latest editions
and the cream of the news. They had developed the art of
emphasizing the human side of the news; they knew how to
condense the news to fit time allowance; they could stylize
ideas in impressionable language, more interesting than
the printed page. And then there was the voice to conjure
with. The speaking of the news brought not only informa-
tion but entertainment to a new audience, — people remote
from centers of population, the blind, the illiterate, and
half-illiterate, and those more ear-minded than eye-minded.

The Press fired its big guns in 1931. The Federal Courts
were invoked to establish a property right in the news col-

310 RAPE OF RADIO

lected by the newspapers. Newspapers as a tactical measure
clamped the lid on all radio publicity and refused to publish
listings unless paid for at space rates.

The Press, however, had reckoned without its public.
Circulation dwindled when readers stopped buying news-
papers which did not include radio programs. The Press
capitulated and restored listings. This was merely a tem-
porary truce for the battle was renewed in 1933 when the
American Newspaper Publishers Association issued the edict
which forbade the broadcasting of news unless the stations
did their own news-gathering. Radio felt the stab but did
not surrender meekly. The public appetite and clamor for
news had to be appeased. Some of the stations created their
own news staff, others obtained or bought the news from the
Associated Press, the United Press or the Hearst services.
The publishers at once brought pressure to bear, and the
AP left radio flat. The UP likewise soon reneged.

The networks were then left to their own devices. In the
summer of 1933, CBS organized its own news agency, — the
Columbia News Service. It set up bureaus in key cities here
and abroad and contracted for foreign news from a British
agency. The service was beginning to thrive on the revenue
from the commercial sponsorship of such news when dis-
sension broke out in radio's ranks. The NBC chain had no
newsgathering bureau of its own. Instead of striking out
boldly in competition, it was inclined to make terms with
the publishers.

A general fear suddenly struck the networks. The press
might, like some monster, retaliate and lend its powerful
influence for government ownership, and that would be the
end of them all. A variety of other reasons led to the death
knell of the Columbia News Service. During 1941, the radio
press rallied to the cause of the national emergency. At any
moment its powers may be taken over by the Government
and its franchise forfeited in the public interest.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 311

Birth of the Press Radio Bureau

The two networks and the press associations finally agreed
to cooperate. The result was a truce signed in 1934 and the
creation of the Press Radio Bureau. Upon the council board
of this Bureau were to sit the representatives of the United
Press, the Associated Press, and the International News
Service.

Competition, however, was not so easily stifled. Over four
hundred independent stations were not bound by the Press-
Radio agreement. Up in New England, the Yankee network,
a group of nine important radio stations, took up the cudgels
for the public, and established its own newsgathering service.

Quietly, too, another newsgathering bureau was planning
to take the helm. It threatened to set up a sort of "Associated
Press of the Air." This was the Transradio Press, Inc., which
was actually ready to begin business one week before the
Press Radio agreement went into effect. The editor, Herbert
S. Moore, now thirty-three, had been associated with UP,
and sought to build up an independent news service, free
from restrictions for commercial purposes. Transradio began
with the principle that newscasting should not be a mere
rehash of stale items listeners had already read in the papers.
It sought to present accurate spot news in a concise, col-
loquial, yet dramatic manner.

Moore established the policy that radio must tell the story
in the "way a man would break the news to his wife that
his boss had given him a raise." It managed to be first on
the air with flash news of major importance, such as the
Hauptmann verdict. Within a year Transradio news was
broadcast over more than ninety stations. Today Transradio
goes by teletype and radio telegraph to two hundred and
ninety stations and boasts of an unusual number of "beats."

The Press and Radio Bureau has been attacked from many

312 RAPE OF RADIO

angles and at present the opposition in a few major indict-
ments:

1. The Bureau has set itself up as a sort of general pro-
tecting agency for the broadcasters when it has no such right.
Edward H. Harris, former Chairman of the Radio Com-
mittee of the American Newspaper Publishers Association,
denied any station had the right to establish its own press
bureaus. "No agency directly or indirectly under govern-
ment license should function as a newsgathering organiza-
tion."

2. The system establishes a personal censorship over the
news, since representatives of the press alone determine
what news should be broadcast and what news should be
omitted, and how the news should be written. Ironically
enough, the Bureau claims that such news is furnished free
to the broadcasters as a public service.

3. The Bureau robs the public of adequate treatment of
the news. Its first regulations limited the broadcasts to two
five-minute periods during each twenty-four hours and con-
fined the news reports to a maximum of fifteen hundred
words. In addition, the time during which these five-minute
reports might be broadcast was so fixed that the news
reached the listener after it had been printed in the news-
papers. "For further details see your daily newspaper" be-
came the slogan for news that was often stale.

4. Press associations have destroyed public interest in the
radio press by the manner of treating the news. Vital hap-
penings of the day are reduced to sketchy statements, written
in a style often weak and uninspiring. A consistent effort is
made to make it appear that radio is but a beggarly substi-
tute for the newspaper. The presentation of facts does not
mean a bald, commonplace style, even though Radio de-
mands condensation. The making of such reports should
command the attention of writers skilled in the oral graces

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 313

of English and unhampered by too stringent external control
on their words.

5. Press bulletins as they reach the broadcasting stations
are naturally stereotyped in form since they are meant
for common consumption all over the country. There is an
absurd monotony in the oral presentation of the news.
There is also a gruesomeness in details of crimes and acci-
dents such as the description of mutilated bodies or unusual
methods of physical violence. The reader, ravenous for these
details, can find them with illustrations in his newspaper,
or he may skip them entirely.

Without giving undue exaggeration to the news, it is
possible to lend color and variety to the reading of the news.
What news reporting on the air needs today is something of
the spontaneity and liveliness that characterize the com-
mentator.

The British news-caster reads more deliberately, in
marked contrast to the American style of delivery. He pauses
to indicate any change of topic — from general news to
sports results and from sport to the price of tin in the Straits
Settlements.

"We don't believe in the golden voice," explains W. M.
Shewen, the BBC's senior announcer of programs broadcast
to the British Empire on short wave, whose voice is heard
by many American radio fans.

These bulletins are handed over to an announcer to read.
He can play the news up or down just as the typographical
spread. In the olden days the airing of a press bulletin by
Graham McNamee tingled with the tenseness and excite-
ment of the city room. There was a glow to his voice and he
made you see an event in larger proportions. The reader of
news bulletins is confined to an agreeable reading of his
script. Whether it be catastrophe or romance, political dis-
ruption or national revolution, triumphal flight of aeroplane
or break of stock exchange, the announcer is a convention-

314 RAPE OF RADIO

alized reader, — the very phraseology of his script is processed.
A John Barrymore, if handed a script of this sort, could do
justice to it in terms of emotion, but let the announcer try
it and he would be fired the next minute!

In 1938 the French Government decreed that news pro-
grams be reduced from ninety to fifteen minutes a day on
both government- and radio-owned stations, on the plea of
the newspapers that they could not stand the radio com-
petition.

Competition or Cooperation?

The difficulties between radio and the press appeared to
be smoothed out, but actually they have grown more com-
plex. Both are slumbering giants, ready to get after each
other. In a special sense they are not truly antagonistic.
Radio and the Press each has its own distinct place in the
spreading of the news. The line of demarcation is indeed
well marked. Wickham Steed maintains that "broadcasting
may get its blows in first, and if the blow is shrewd and
true it will command increasing confidence." He continues:
"But newspapers can strengthen and deepen the impression
made by the spoken word if the news they give is equally
true and straight, and if their comments upon it are such as
commend themselves to listeners who may have reflected
overnight upon what they have heard before reading inter-
pretations of it the next morning."

The newspaper can cover reams in its detailed reports;
radio is forced to treat the news briefly. The newspaper will
always retain its function as a depository of the news even
after spot news has lost its pulling power. The news which
reaches us out of the loudspeaker is ephemeral and of no
use for reference. There must be a special reason why a
man would want to read a speech of the president after he
had heard it on the air. The radio dispatches and com-
mentaries during the European war crisis in 1938 proved

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 315

the public's eagerness to read the printed statement of the
news keener than ever. This may explain why many listeners
write for the offered copy of a speech or report. The printed
matter is a safer guide than the ear, for the mind in reading
has a chance to ponder over the news.

Certain events grip the mind while they are happening
and are best described over the air. These include sports,
races, celebrations, speeches, civic ceremonies and the like.
In this respect, radio is a neutral and unbiased news trans-
mitting agency. The newspaper retains for itself its right as
a protagonist as well as a disseminator of the news.

The principal objection to the joint control by press and
radio is the fear that it is not sound policy to give a single
agency control of the two means of reaching the mind of
the American public. The danger lies in a possible con-
spiracy of press and radio to control the news and so control
public thinking.

A monopolistic invasion of journalism would be a mighty
wedge to totalitarian mass thinking. The surest guarantee
of free speech lies in competition between the newspapers.
Perhaps no one has put the matter more sanely than Sir
Wickham Steed, the British journalist:

"In a word, the contest between broadcasting and the
press needs to be judged from the standpoint of what is
most conducive to public welfare and to the safeguarding
of that freedom of public opinion which is a condition of
every true civilization. Should broadcasting ever become
an agency for the dissemination of one set of ideas to the
exclusion of others, should any official or semi-official taint
permanently disfigure it, or should it lend itself to other
propaganda than that of making known from day to day,
facts and views which the nation ought to know, it would
in turn be required to be opposed, criticized and even de-
nounced; and in opposing, criticizing or denouncing it,
dependent newspapers would render a public service."

316 RAPE OF RADIO

The Future of the Radio Press

What does the future hold for the radio press?

Imminent developments in televison and facsimile, it is
predicted, will make it possible for country newspapers to
operate their own facsimile broadcasting stations using low-
power ultra-high-frequency transmitters. Silas Brent en-
visages impending changes: "When one can see news happen
while listening to it, the newspaper, as such will receive its
coup de grace. One trembles to think what will become of
the newspapers, so far as their present capacities and appeals
are concerned, when this time arrives.

"I believe the daily will go by the board and that we will
have weeklies blessed with some of the qualities of the 'Man-
chester Guardian,' yet containing summaries of important
happenings with documentary material, with interpretations
of political, economic and social events, with fewer pages
devoted to the comics and advice to the lovelorn. In this
way, the ill wind of radio may blow the press some benefit."

Publicists are naturally impatient with predictions. H.
V. Kaltenborn would not venture a statement until he had
looked in on the television of George VTs coronation.
"Television is so near that it is high time to give it a little
thought in connection with the news."

Both radio and the press live in glass houses. The press
supplies the readers with whatever their owners think they
have the right to lay before them, and radio is equally guilty
of its share in propagandizing. This was the thesis of a
vitriolic debate between Secretary Harold L. Ickes and
Frank Gannet, newspaper proprietor.

"To preserve freedom of opinion, we must tolerate even
an abuse of that opinion,," declared the Secretary in a later
analysis of the danger of reckless license unscrupulously
used on the part of newspaper and radio.

"I would not, if I could," he conceded, "prevent the

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 317

expression in the columns or over the air, of any views on
public affairs, provided only that the public is not denied an
equal opportunity to hear the other side."

Constructing the News Script

The preparation of the news report is in the hands of
skilled writers who have learned the art of radio style and
presentation. It is an easy trick of adaptation, and the prin-
ciples we indicate are about the same with all news bureaus.

1. Style is important. A newspaper written entirely in
broadcast style might strike readers as unreadable just as a
broadcast "talk" prepared in the style of a newspaper article
would not receive the same degree of attention as if it had
the marks of a personal style.

2. The news as spoken furnishes the "picture paper" of
the air, hence bulletins should have their share of impelling
phrases and words that provoke immediate images. This
makes the news far more entertaining to the ear than the
reading of short headlines, and the condensed lead which is
the practice of the daily papers.

3. Each item covered revolves around one incident, and
all unnecessary details are omitted. This leaves the listener
with a single impression, aided by significant "color" de-
tails which require careful choice.

4. Statistical figures, in general news reports, bore the
average listener and are generally omitted unless they con-
cern matters of national importance such as WPA appropria-
tions, the Draft schedules, Red Cross collections and the like.
Figures expressed in generalizations of round numbers are
more easily rationalized.

5. Certain special taboos apply to radio news. Transradio
Press Service includes in this list unpleasant stories that deal
with crime, unless they are of compelling national interest
and are already of pulling effect in papers throughout the

318 RAPE OF RADIO

country; also, gruesome details of crimes and accidents, such
as the description of mutilated bodies or unusual methods
of physical violence. The listener has no choice, he is at the
mercy of the broadcaster and cannot stop the tale of horror
unless he turns off his dial, and then it may be too late. The
message may have already come through the loud speaker to
the assembled family.

6. The brief five-minute resume of the news contains from
eight to ten fast moving items, each of which is datelined.

7. The punch sentence consists of seven words or less and
impacts the ear with a force analogous to the black headlines
which arrest the eye.

8. The use of the exclamation "Flash!" is no longer
countenanced by the FCC. Announcers too often shrieked
out "Flash" for the most trivial items already widely cir-
culated in print, or as a preface for bulletins that had not
actually just come over the wires.

9. Variety should characterize the items chosen for broad-
casting. National news should be balanced by local news that
affects the community within the range of the transmitter.
Local Boston news may not have the slightest import in
Seattle or Tennessee. The items chosen are of front-page
importance dealing with fresh news or latest developments
and so writers persist that if feasible, no two items on crime
or politics should follow one another. If broadcasts cover
more than five minutes, proportion requires that a longer
treatment of a subject follow a shorter one. Here the rule
requires study of better listener attention.

10. At least one news story may be featured and should
run between one hundred and fifty to one hundred and
seventy-five words. The average fifteen-minute talk, whether
it be news or advice on health, contains about two thousand
two hundred and fifty words although some of the veteran
commentators cover more ground. For example, Lowell
Thomas figures about two thousand four hundred words for

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 319

thirteen minutes, and others of the more rapid-fire variety,
microphone from two thousand five hundred to two thou-
sand eight hundred words in that length of time. The speed
in every instance is naturally gauged by the speaker's style,
therefore, there can be no definite rule for news broadcasts
anymore than for teaching, spellbinding or preaching. Speed
depends upon the material and voice personality of the in-
dividual broadcaster.

11. For immediate effect, start with <rcolorful" news items
of human interest, and instead of the date line, play up the
news in a "headline lead." The locale of the story must
however be clearly indicated in the first sentence.

12. The most timely and important items may be placed
where they will make the strongest impression. The biggest
item will usually come second, but practice varies. The end
item requires careful selection. Study the news for the fea-
tures that can be played up entertainingly. The final para-
graph lends enhancement to the broadcast and rounds things
out. Lowell Thomas is master of the anecdotal item which
is remembered long after the news items are forgotten.

13. The favorite news-time period is between six and eight
P.M. with an additional summary at eleven P.M. which
covers events since the last evening edition of the papers.

14. Special bulletins of transcendental importance may
be "flashed" immediately and may interrupt a regular pro-
gram or be inserted between programs. Emphasis on stories
that appeal to women should be stressed from morning until
late afternoon during their peak listening hours.

15. Bulletins of disasters such as aeroplane wrecks or ships
sinking should be specific as to locale. A generalized news
report worded: "Twenty people died in an aeroplane crash
in Ohio this afternoon," would create undue alarm among
listeners who have relatives flying at that period.

16. War news from reporters on the scene in foreign
capitals is becoming of great importance, and should be
accepted with a view to European censorships.

32O RAPE OF RADIO

The Rise of the News Commentator

The first commentators of the news over the air were the
announcers who gave to a listening America, the election
returns of the Harding campaign of 1920. Only journalism
was thus ushered in on the air with an event of national
importance. All this is past history. The News commentator
came into the radio field actually only when transmission
and receiving sets became perfected. In 1922, H. V. Kalten-
born was the first and only editorialist on the air.

News programs reached their improved form in 1930. Led
by H. V. Kaltenborn, Lowell Thomas and Floyd Gibbons,
the news commentator established himself firmly with his
public. Later, radio recruited Boake Carter, Edwin C. Hill,
John B. Kennedy and others whose talents lay in the news-
paper field.

The background and experience of the news commentator
are of vital importance in his approach to radio. Lowell
Thomas was on the staff of more than a dozen large metro-
politan newspapers before he came to radio as news com-
mentator for the Literary Digest. His life had been replete
with action and adventure. An unquenchable thirst for travel
had carried him to the far corners of the globe where he
had seen history in the making. He has been a gold miner,
cowpuncher, football player, law student, reporter, editor,
college professor, explorer of the Arctic, India, Malaya,
Burma and Central Asia; special plenipotentiary to Europe
during the World War, war correspondent, world traveler,
and author of many books on adventure. He has been an
intimate friend of Field Marshal Viscount Allenby; of Sul-
tans, Prime Ministers and Kings; friend of Princely Emirs
of the East; close companion of Lawrence, the mystery man
of Arabia; confidant of Carl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxem-
burg, acquaintance of princes and beggars of Jerusalem
and Mecca, of London and Rome, of Paris and Singapore.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES

Lowell Thomas has been called the "Dean of Radio Com-
mentators." He had capitalized on his experience by lectur-
ing to more than four million people who paid close to a
million dollars to hear his adventures. When first heard over
the microphone his series of broadcasts, "Topics In Brief —
The News Behind the News," Thomas pinch-hit for Floyd
Gibbons. He was described as Radio's Newest Voice. Some-
thing in his rich and modulated tones conveyed a genuine
friendliness to a vaster audience than he had dreamed of on
the public platform.

The busy commentator may need assistance in compiling
his stuff. Lowell Thomas maintains a private staff, which
includes Prosper Buranelli and Louis Sherwin, both astute,
brilliant and competent journalists.

Floyd Gibbons, before his microphone debut, was the
newspaper reporter whose one journalistic object in life
was to scoop the news. Indeed, he has been called the greatest
"first news reporter" on the contemporary scene. In his
earlier broadcasting, Floyd Gibbons edited the "Newspaper
of the Air." He was the first newspaperman to leave an im-
press of his personality on his listeners.

Most fast talkers slow down once in a while but Gibbons
developed a rat-atap pace of some two hundred and seven-
teen words per minute that held listeners spellbound. He
translated newspaper experience into microphone experi-
ence. Eagerly and briskly he commenced: "Hello, every-
body, bushels of news today, things popping up all over the
map."

Floyd lost the sight of one eye by a machine gun bullet
at Chateau-Thierry. John B. Kennedy recalls that Floyd used
to have his scripts typed in jumbo type so that he could read
easily. "With that big type he would come to the studio with
forty or fifty pages of stuff, almost four times as many as the
rest of us used!"

Floyd Gibbons' manner was to lean toward the mike, his

322 RAPE OF RADIO

torso out-spanning the back of the chair by six inches on
either side. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the
studio visitor. The full lips of a rugged ringside face curled
into friendly smile and foiled the glint of his one blue eye.

Occasionally radio makes a discovery in an outsider like
General Hugh S. Johnson. The former ruler of the NRA
on the air in 1939 established himself as a personality among
the commentators. He scorned the academic style, and
huskily expressed his opinions with dogmatic authority inter-
spersed with Americanisms. If listeners differed from him,
it was a warm colorful manner that listeners seek. Here is
the man who is of the salt of the earth. His contract calls
for delivery of a script two hours in advance of broadcast
time, so that the network executives could look it over to
remove any potential dynamite. His custom was to deliver
it exactly two hours in advance, seldom an extra minute.
There is a minimum time for argument.

Don Harold lets loose a satiric shaft in Judge: "And the
headaches which you get from listening to General Hugh
Johnson's news commentaries over NBC can be assuaged
(perhaps) by using Bromo-Quinine, which sponsors him."

Edwin C. Hill tries to analyze the major events of the day,
but not too philosophically. His aim is a dressed-up picture
of events. He is not profoundly analytical. His broadcasts
conform to the promise that people like to listen to colorful,
dramatic stories instead of a mere factual presentation. His
preparation is painstaking yet facile. It takes him a full day
of research and about four hours of solid writing and re-
vision to prepare his one broadcast.

"I have worked out a formula for my broadcasts," Hill
explains. "First I hit the audience with some topic which
is both timely and of general interest, after which I tell about
some amusing angle, followed by a touch of sentiment or
an emotional appeal, arid conclude with some intensely
dramatic item." For three years in succession, Hill was

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 323

chosen by the radio editors of the United States and Canada
as the most popular news commentator.

Gabriel Heatter is relatively new to radio. For many years
he was a free-lance writer. He owes his radio career to Don-
ald Flamm, the president of WMCA. An article by Heatter
in The Nation so intrigued the young radio executive that
he invited the author to speak about it over the air. After
Heatter's initial broadcast in 1932, the invitation was ex-
tended indefinitely. He ad libbed for fifty-one minutes wait-
ing for the "flash" of the confirmation of the execution of
Bruno Richard Hauptmann, the murderer of Lindbergh's
child.

Whose Mouthpiece is the News Commentator?

The news commentator is fast becoming the mouthpiece
of public opinion. If he confines himself to a mere recital of
the news, he is on safe ground. If he imposes his personal
judgment on questions of politics, national policy and eco-
nomic affairs, he will be accused of "propaganda."

The news commentator always is presented with a
dilemma. If he is to make any money at all, he must be em-
ployed by some corporation or other interests. It is but
natural that the sponsor will choose a man with views that
coincide with the views of the corporation that pays his
salary. Even with the best of intentions, the best of the com-
mentators are bound to be biased.

Boake Carter was born in Baku, South Russia, the son of
a British oil man. When Carter began his broadcasts, his
English accent grated on many. His energetic voice some-
what pompous in tone was nevertheless friendly enough to
command respect. A. J. Liebling who "examined" Boake
Carter in Scribners found that his "scripts are full of facti-
tious heartiness like 'by-golly' 'great Scott/ and 'by-Jingoes'."
They also abounded in pretentious premises: "that's a very

324 RAPE OF RADIO

significant fact." He took leave of the listener with a
"Cheerio!" invitation to his next serial broadcast.

The episode that made Carter was the fortunate break at
the Flemington trial of Bruno Hauptmann for the kidnap-
ping of the Lindbergh baby. In the early stages of the dra-
matic court room pageants, Carter departed from the con-
ventional straight news broadcast. Instead he launched a
phillipic against the forces of crime. CBS, which thought
the public could not stand such strong stuff, erased him from
the air waves. A deluge of protests made CBS reverse itself.
Carter came back. In his heyday, Boake Carter's nightly
audience was estimated as from ten to sixteen millions.

He was accused of cloaking his accounts of daily events
in the tone of dark menace. His attack on labor unions be-
came bolder. CIO pickets marched in front of Station
WCAU (Philadelphia) where he did his broadcast and de-
clared a boycott on the products of his sponsor, Philco
Radio. Carter studied the radio technique provocative of
Father Coughlin whom the commentator declared "always
titillates his listeners."

Carter always wanted to go out on the limb, and soon
talked himself into a lot of trouble. The parting of the
ways was soon at hand. His five year contract with the Philco
Radio and Television Corporation ended early in 1939. He
was immediately signed up by General Foods to broadcast
for Huskies and Post Toasties. Promptly the CIO counsel
of Philadelphia passed a resolution of boycott against Gen-
eral Foods' products. A meeting was arranged between Car-
ter and the union leaders. He agreed he would refrain from
any direct comment on labor. "It takes two to make an argu-
ment," he said, "and I won't argue."

On August 26, 1938, General Foods said "Cheerio!" to
Boake Carter failing to renew his contract. The man of the
hour was off the air! How are the mighty fallen! Under the
impact of censorship applied by pressure groups, the great

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 325

Boake was silenced. One catches something bitter in his
complaint against his sponsors:

"I have always expressed my views," he said in a Variety
interview, "but this butting in on the part of the sponsors
gets worse with passing months. The unhampered radio com-
mentator is a thing of the past. He is no more and there is
no real free speech on the radio. It is absolutely impossible
today to be a genuine radio commentator on a sponsored
program. The sponsor we will say manufactures soap, and
then let the commentator say something about the Germans
and the sponsor objects because the Germans buy this soap.
You mention the Italians and he gets jittery for the same
reason. Everybody uses soap, and he sells soap everywhere,
so there is nothing to talk about except the weather."

In 1940 Carter staged a comeback sponsored by the United
Airlines, a much chastened man.

Heywood Broun unloosed a shaft against some of his
fellow newspapermen. "I trust that nobody will insist that
Boake Carter is an economist or Ed Hill an authority on
contemporary labor relations. Both gentlemen do excellent
and exciting jobs. Give either of them no more than a head-
line and he can make the invisible listener see troop ships
upon the tide and watch the Derby horses in the stretch or
thrill to the mental sound picture of a coronation band.
This is an art. But it is not in any precise sense the craft of
reporting. For the effect is produced almost entirely by elo-
cutionary effort. We may see the happenings of the world,
but we see them darkly as reflected through the particular
personality of Mr. Hill or Mr. Carter."

H. V. Kaltenborn carries in his radio message that note
of integrity and impartiality that has made him known as
a "Good Will Ambassador of the Newspaper of the Air."
Withal, he is not lukewarm and unopinionated. He speaks
his mind with courage, and his judgment on many of the
social and political issues is trenchant. He has made listeners

326 RAPE OF RADIO

marvel at the truth of his predictions. Example: He fore-
told the fall of Dolfus and the acceptance of Hitler's ulti-
matum by the Czechs. His motives are humanitarian and
constructive. "With radio," he says, "I have a new weapon
with which to drive home my belief in world integration
and world understanding."

Kaltenborn keeps his program up to the minute by read-
ing, interviewing the great and near-great, and spending
several months each year in those countries which are seeth-
ing cauldrons of news. He speaks English, French, German
and Spanish with facility.

Kaltenborn was always interested in foreign doings, and
in 1922 WJZ asked him to conduct a quiz on foreign affairs.
About the same time, he began broadcasting over the gov-
ernment station on Governor's Island despite a constantly
recurring fear complex when facing the microphone. "It re-
quired four months of regular radio work to put me at
my ease."

Some of the broader methods of maintaining strict impar-
tiality may be noted.

1. Listeners will have more faith in the commentator if
he gives his answers to questions of politics and national
policy, emphasizing that the judgment is his own.

2. He must not lead the audience astray. In giving an
opinion he must be honest. If information is not available,
it is best to say so. It is better to admit that an opinion
is a mere hazard or a guess, and is not founded on facts.

3. Every question has two sides. The light should be
turned to the right and to the left if even for a brief moment
to illuminate the subject. It is important to show that you
have considered both sides of a case before announcing your
own conclusion.

4. Reinforce any generalization by supporting details. A
mere say-so is not enough. The radio audience has its critical
groups as well as those who accept any assertion.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 327

5. To increase respect for your own opinion, use quota-
tions from authorities.

6. The news commentator must not presume he knows
it all. No commentator can long hold his public if he carries
an air of self-pretension.

7. If it is in your power, avoid a contract which compels
you to kill your commercials with your news comments.
It is a fatal practice which may bring you more money but
which will eventually leave you poverty-stricken with the
radio audience. Gabriel Heatter pours on Kreml so thickly
that he succeeds in getting into the listener's hair.

Heywood Broun made the charge that the commentators
who expound the news every evening are so busy doing
scripts or having them prepared that they seldom get down
to earth from their pent houses. Few of the news com-
mentators make any pretense of gathering news. For the
duration of their contracts the men who are first class news
reporters have ceased to be good newspapermen. Vocal pro-
duction has become more paramount than factual repre-
sentation.

Interviewing the Great and the Near-Great

The work of interviewing comes within the scope of the
news commentator. This is a particularly difficult art and
involves a distinctly personal style. One must understand the
man to be interviewed, as well as the subject matter of the
issues to be discussed.

H. V. Kaltenborn has shown a special genius for inter-
viewing. His easy facility of phrase, and spontaneity of
speech, and his ability to make the man or woman inter-
viewed feel at ease before the microphone, makes Kalten-
born a model interviewer. He knows how to extract informa-
tion from the great and near great. His colloquy with
Governor Landon during the Roosevelt campaign is a gem
of its kind.

328 RAPE OF RADIO

There is no more difficult problem in radio than that of
the impromptu interviewer. The commentator will at least
show some insight into the subject to be discussed. Ofttimes
he will select the subject. He will stress the highlights and
create something of balance — a coordination in a program
crowded into fifteen minutes or less. The interview will be
as much an expose of the interviewer as of the interviewee.

Important interviews require scripts in the hands of both
parties, prepared in advance. This allows for very careful
editing. All this is a matter of agreement between both
parties and requires the most tactful approach, especially
if the person to be interviewed is ticklish about any change
in his diction. Everything depends upon the reaction of
the interviewee to the microphone. The commentator should
always retain a speech manner that is colloquial. He may
likewise employ those ad lib touches that remove the inter-
view from the odium of a mere reading lesson.

The commentator must judge his man with certain pur-
pose in mind. First comes the approach. He must gain his
trust and respect. This personal relationship will solve the
day. The interviewee himself must be actuated by a
desire to satisfy some need. The commentator has the deli-
cate task of persuading his speaker that Radio is calling.

There are many devices for gaining the support of the
interviewee. The broadcaster should not touch on sensitive
topics. His manner should be informal. The one who is to
be interviewed will be sure to closely scrutinize the radio
broadcaster to determine how friendly he is and how far he
can be trusted. Sometimes the little laugh, or a preliminary
conversation, helps create the feeling of "rapport." The
manner of the radio interviewer contributes much to the
success of the broadcast. The commentator's cheery word
of greeting tends to break down the reserve and restraint
which may overcome the interviewee. Praise often elicits the

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 329

most immediate response. It certainly is the easiest way to
make your subject "thaw out."

It seems perfectly obvious that the broadcaster should
learn something about the person to be interviewed before
the interview, and yet this principle is more often observed
in the breach than in the performance.

Cultivate an easy conversational tone instead of the Dis-
trict Attorney prosecuting manner. Such a course will mean a
smooth performance, pleasant to the ears and comforting to
the sense. Remember your interviewee is not on trial. His
answers will flow agreeably, if you do not pound at him.

Many a commentator fails dismally in interviewing be-
cause he cannot adapt himself to the point of view of the
person interviewed. The interviewer should not sit in ju-
dicial appraisal, upon what is said. He should see things
through the other man's glasses as early as possible in the
interview. The program is not a debate, but the drawing out
of opinion without rancor or dogmatic rebuttal.

Broadcasters who hope to succeed in the field of inter-
viewing must master the technique of questioning. Some
of the silliest interviews come over the air in a series of
questions that require "yes" or "no" for an answer. Ques-
tions which are likely to bring about a response unsuitable
for radio ears are taboo. Ask one question at a time. Dorothy
Thompson errs in this respect when she gets so excited she
keeps on interrupting. Another blunder made by broad-
casters is to repeat ad nauseam what a person has just said.
This is a cute device for stalling for time and exposing the
weakness of the interviewer. An interview is expected to
contribute to the stream of thought. It is permissible to sum-
marize, to clarify the thought and verify statements.

Radio is terribly exacting in the matter of pauses. A per-
son is expected to shout out an answer without time to
think. If the microphone practice is revised in this respect,
the interview will seem more natural, certainly reach the ears
of the listeners more agreeably.

330 RAPE OF RADIO

How to Play Up the Press

Each commentator has his own particular slants in select-
ing his material. An analysis discloses, a formula or method
that is common to them all.

1. Select some topic of general timeliness which will cap-
ture the interest of the listeners.

2. Follow with a theme which has its humorous angles,
and make a "direct hit" by virtue of your witty interpre-
tation.

3. Next, by contrast, play on some emotional theme that
will invoke the sentiment.

4. Return to the more serious note of an event of dramatic
values.

5. Wind up the broadcast with a return to a less serious
theme, re-establishing a more pleasant frame of mind.

6. Finally, end on some cheerful little earful like, "So
long, until tomorrow," or "Until tomorrow, Toastie and I
will say, Cheerio!" Some end on a wisecrack, a quotation,
an aphorism or a rhetorical sentence like that of a Walter
Winchell broadcast: "Your country had a secession, a de-
pression and a recession, but it never had an oppression."

Speaking the News

The successful news commentator must have the ability
to write the news, but also to speak the news. Harlan Eugene
Reid epitomized his own experience as a commentator in
this way: "The news commentator reads, studies and writes
all day. Then he delivers his stuff in fifteen minutes at night
and tries to make the world think that it is extemporaneous.
If he has written poorly, he may save the day by an excellent
delivery. If he has a poor delivery, God help him."

The commentators have the additional problem of re-
writing the news in their own peculiar radio style of speech.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 331

The staccato sentences of Walter Winchell are suited to
his brand of sensational news thrusts. H. V. Kaltenborn car-
ries more dignity and weight in his discourse. His sentences
are varied, well balanced, and allow for smoother rhythms
in speech.

Lowell Thomas has a freshness and simplicity of style that
can be easily understood. Boake Carter's manuscript might
sound pretty silly if read by another. Some critic clocked
Carter during a fifteen-minute broadcast and discovered that
he began sixty-eight sentences with "and" and besides Carter
interlauded his sentences with repetitions of "so's" and
"but's."

A few rough notes is all that Kaltenborn brings with him
to the studio. He picks out the most important news stories,
and the rest is left to his magnificent gift of diction and
his power to picturize.

Sterling Fischer, Director of Talks for CBS, presents this
picture of Kaltenborn: "He speaks entirely from scribbled
notes scrawled on old envelopes, or a couple of scraps of
memo paper spread out on the table. This will give him
specific material for a half hour talk."

Raymond Gram Swing, a serious liberal, has had various
posts with newspapers. In 1936 he became commentator for
WOR and rose to public favor as a sincere and unaffected
speaker who relied on the factual rather than the hysterical.
He never faces the mike without a script and avoids the
error of talking down to his audience.

Arthur Hale was tried out in New York, months before
his radio debut. As "Confidentially Yours," he is supposed
to have the scoops of Trans Radio ready for delivery. About
one hundred correspondents supply items, and are paid
anywhere from five dollars to one hundred dollars for the
news they provide and are said to be located all over the
country. Some of them are ex-cabinet officers, ready to sup-
ply choice items.

332 RAPE OF RADIO

The news commentator as a rule does not seek for literary
effects. His art is that of colloquial speech. Too much formal-
ism would destroy that intimate touch of the commentator
with the listener. The commentator appeals to the audience
as a living personality close to the heart of things. A pedantic
style removes him from the popular sphere.

Guiding Rules for the News Commentator

The successful commentator who has mastered the details
of his art can readily adapt his experiences to radio.

The Editor Emeritus of The New York Times, the late
John H. Finley, set forth in an address before the South-
western Journalism Congress shortly before his death: "The
editor must have a glimpse into all fields of human knowl-
edge and achievement. He must also be aware of the great
abysses of human ignorance which no editorial Marcus Cur-
tius can close, however sacrificially noble his purpose. He
must not only know something and everybody, but know
where to get the everything that is known about anything/'

The editorialist of the air must follow the same rules.
The news commentator must know the truth as well as it
can be known, and then know how to tell it. It is more and
more to the vocal newspaper and less and less to be a propa-
gandist. To appraise the news in terms of human values is
the great task of the radio news commentator.

The following summary is meant to be merely suggestive
of the requirements that mark the more successful broad-
casting:

i. A wise selection of the headlines in the news that will
strike the average interest. Everybody cannot be interested
in everything. The trained newspaperman does not find it a
formidable task to select from the UP and foreign cable re-
ports those items that will command attention. This means
that some fifteen thousand words must be boiled down to

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 333

approximately three thousand words that will count with the
radio audience, spoken at the rate of one hundred and sev-
enty words per minute for about fourteen minutes.

2. The telling of the news quickly, clearly, completely
and accurately. This is problem enough.

3. A style that is individual, with a vocabulary not forced
or stilted.

4. An interpretative touch in affairs, that is notably free
from prejudice.

5. Explanatory details that will increase the interest of
the listener and help him to understand what is being pic-
tured.

6. The trick of condensing without missing important
and interesting details.

7. An ability to select the less important items that reflect
the human side of the news. These are equivalent to the
features of a printed newspaper. The bare, brief terse para-
graphs of the printed newspaper often become the lead
article of radio. The long, dry, routine stories may demand
very brief mention.

8. A sense of proportion in the news. The general news
commentator does not harp on any one field to the exclusion
of others. He speaks for a large audience whose varied in-
terests may not be denied.

9. A sense of humor. The successful commentator is able
to glean the laugh from the foibles of men and women as in-
dicated by their doings from press reports. The radio com-
mentator is the accurate reporter plus the genial commenta-
tor. Lowell Thomas said, "Talks should be sprinkled with
nonsense, with here and there a thrill, perhaps a sob. My
talks are planned as entertainment, not education."

10. A sense of timing is important to fill the full period
assigned. Some commentators make their scripts the right
length by having a couple of pages of short fillers for use at
the end.

334 RAPE OF RADIO

1 1 . An understanding of the taboos of radio news report-
ing. A newspaper man can say things in print which as a
commentator he would not dare discuss on the air. All this is
a matter of good taste. A radio audience consists largely of
women and children, the husband and other members of
the family. The listeners exercise a definite censorship. If
any class of listeners are offended, they are bound to make a
protest. Gabriel Heatter recommends: "There are ways of
handling stories with the edge of scandal. Never let it get
out of hand. Treat it from an inoffensive angle. People are
divided. The broadcaster must exercise finesse in dealing
with such scandals as that of Mary Astor and George S. Kauf-
man, the escapade of Eleanor Holm Jarret, or the adventures
of Jimmy Walker. There is always a way to tone down the
vicious element in the news."

12. Flexibility of voice. The newscaster should be master
of modulation. The ear is sensitive to changes in melody,
volume and emotional color. The news can be recited in a
calm, matter-of-fact way and it may also be spoken to lead
you up dramatically to the climax in such a way that when
you get there your pulse will be up around one hundred and
twenty. By the tone of his voice, the commentator may tone
down or exaggerate the import of the news in the same way
as the headlines in the press.

The New School of Gossip Commentators

Walter Winchell is the father of the school of gossip com-
mentators. His enormous success is based on the human in-
stinct to pry into the intimate affairs of people and live
vicariously on the experience of others. Winchell was able
to prove that even the most trivial facts hold an extraordi-
nary fascination for the listener.

It is in the expansive hinterland of America, away from
the big cities, that Winchell has his greatest vogue. His

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 335

words are literally eaten up in the sticks. His comments
touch on all classes of society. No one is safe from his fer-
reting examination, sports champions, gangsters, actors, mo-
tion picture stars, the playboys of society, bubble dancers,
the social climbers and the debutantes, the literary lights
and the politicians.

All of this gossip comes over the air with unquestioned
authority. Tradition has grown up that if Winchell says it,
the thing must be true. A lawyer skilled in libel practice,
bluepencils everything Walter broadcasts before it goes on
the air and, like a man who hates to keep a secret, permits
America to look in on everything that he sees or learns about
everybody's life.

No one has estimated the number which constitutes
Winchell's radio audience. His listeners probably measure
up to that abused adjective, "vast." His venture in radio
parallels his success in journalism. He is credited with draw-
ing a third of the circulation of the Daily Mirror (six hun-
dred thousand) and his syndicated column appears in more
than a hundred newspapers which have an estimated circu-
lation of seven million two hundred and fifty thousand. His
Jergen's Journal now in its tenth year, is one of the oldest on
the air under one sponsorship. Its current Crossley rating
is twelve which is the top for newscasters as compared to
Lowell Thomas' Summer Time rating of seven.

Winchell speaks as he writes, tersely. The air is arrested
by his crisp flash of: "Good Evening Mr. and Mrs. North
America and all the ships at sea." A slightly nasal tone mixed
with breathy quality impels the listeners' excitement over
the disclosure of hitherto dark secrets. A personal style,
arresting, with answers to those who write to him personally.

"Earth shaking announcements," William P. McAvoy calls
them. "A lot of them have been printed, most of them have
little significance and you can read any of them next morning
without raising either your temperature or blood-pressure."

336 RAPE OF RADIO

Winchell talks about two hundred words a minute when
he broadcasts.

"Do you know why I go so fast?" he once confessed as
though he enjoyed the joke himself. "If I talked slowly,
people would find out what I was saying and remember how
dull it was."

At times Winchell's style is too obviously clever and
affected. He forces epigram and overdoes his balanced sen-
tence. "Americanism is not using a flagstaff as a blackjack."
"America is not playing 'The Star Spangled Banner' and
drowning out the voice of reason." "Americanism is not
talking of justice when your fellow American needs justice."

His peculiar genius is in giving his "air column" the touch
of dignity by espousal of social causes, his respect for the
downtrodden and the abused; scallions for the villains and
orchids for the heroes.

How does Walter act before the microphone? An intimate
study of him was made by his friend, William P. McAvoy:
"With his hat on the back of his head, his coat off, his shirt
open, his tie loosened, he works his sound effects for tele-
graph and wireless messages while he shouts into the micro-
phone his 'dots and dashes with lots of flashes from border
to border and coast to coast/ His nervous excitement ex-
hausts everybody around the studio, and after twelve min-
utes of this machine-gun delivery, he collapses like a rag
doll."

Winchell has a long way to go before his radio decline. He
has a straight fifty-two week contract at four thousand dollars
per. It may be that time will come when it will be possible
to use the epitaph prepared for Winchell by a critic and ap-
proved by Walter himself: "Here lies Walter Winchell — At
last the dirt's on him."

In the field of movie-gossip Jimmy Fidler has attained
a vogue which reflects the era of movie-star worship. His
catch phrase "And I do mean you!" has become a by-word

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 337

to approximately twenty million listeners. He babbles about
men and women on the screen, opens up the scandals of
Hollywood and releases the choice bits of human frailty
to which Hollywood is subject. Twice a week for fifteen
minutes he is on the air for Proctor and Gamble. His tongue
is full of sharp rebuke, a tendency which his sponsors have
softened.

Here are the other items which made his competitors in
the key-hole peeping business sad and unhappy:

"Flash! I am about to reveal that Clark Gable and his
wife will announce their intention to secure a divorce to-
morrow and I will not only divulge that but I will name the
place where they will meet to settle their financial affairs
and the lawyers who will represent each."

Jimmy Fidler is one of the more than five thousand pro-
fessional gossipers who keep the world informed about the
doings of Hollywood's greatest. He broadcasts over NBC
each Tuesday evening, writes a daily news-and-gossip col-
umn in the interests of a cough sponsor, and spends the
balance of his time making his competitors' faces an apoplec-
tic hue by scooping them with astonishing regularity. Where
and how he gets his information is his own secret. Rumor
gives him a spy organization second to none in Hollywood.

Women gossipers of the air are represented by Hedda
Hopper, the fifth wife of the oft-wedded and now deceased
De Wolf Hopper. Hedda is rated less accurate than most of
the gossips, and is famed for her rough talks. In 1939 Hedda
was signed up on the recommendation of the M. G. M.
publicity office and lost no time in delving into the careers
of the Hollywood stars. She is the successor of Louella Par-
sons, but much more vigorous in method. "You can't fool
this old bag," she says impulsively.

And so women remain the target for man's inquisition.
The world is ever ready to probe into the inner secrets of
their neighbors and thus satisfy the human instinct for gossip
and personalia held sacred.

RAPE OF RADIO

Radio Foreign News Correspondents

Radio has brought on an insatiable demand for expert
commentaries, interviews with men in power, eye-witness
accounts and the direct speeches of dictators, foreign minis-
ters and men who rule.

When technical improvement made possible instant trans-
mission of the news across the seas by the human voice, the
Radio Correspondent came into being. The dean of them all
is Caesar Saerchinger who earned for himself the sobriquet
of "Radio's First Ambassador." For seven years he served
NBC as European representative, to resign in 1937 only
because the job seemed to offer no future. Had he waited
another year, he would have found his position greatly aug-
mented in importance and responsibility.

He was succeeded by Edward R. Morrow. As a radio cor-
respondent Morrow had three great advantages over news-
paper reporters on the scene: i. He beat the newspapers by
hours; 2. He reached millions who depend on provincial
newspapers for their foreign news; 3. He was able to write
his own headlines since he emphasized what he wished.

The broadcast of speeches from America to England dur-
ing the period of 1930 was practically nil. The actual speech
that inaugurated speeches west and east was the first in-
augural address of Franklin D. Roosevelt. His voice cap-
tured the imagination of the British.

On the initiative of the British Broadcasting Corporation,
arrangements were made for a series of talks by prominent
Americans to be relayed to England alternately by CBS
and NBS. The first of the series, "American Points of View,"
included such speakers as Secretary Perkins and Pearl Buck.

An exchange series dealing with the interpretation of
the news was also organized by CBS under the title of
"Transatlantic Bulletin." The import of these broadcasts
was to convey an impartial analysis of political trends and

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 339

developments both of England and the United States. On this
side of the water we began to hear distinguished British
journalists and commentators like Raymond Gram Swing,
Vernon Bartlet and Sir Frederick Whyte.

International news broadcasting reached its highest peak
during that tense fortnight when the world felt itself on
the brink of new cataclysm. The speed and thoroughness
with which radio brought to America complete news of the
duel between Chamberlain and Hitler, remains one of the
marvels of news communication.

One has but to study the chronology of events to under-
stand the complexities. Those hectic days, stations stayed
on the air twenty-four hours. The story of the crisis first
occupied the foreign radio correspondent when in July,
1938, the British government decided to mediate to break
the deadlock between the Czechoslovak government and the
Sudetan Germans. Lord Runciman was sent to Prague to
stave off German intervention.

The second chapter of the swift moving radio narrative
was laid at Berchtesgaden whither the British Prime Min-
ister had flown to find out directly from Hitler if there was
any hope of saving peace. By September 14, 1938, it must
be remembered, the German troops were already at the
Czech border threatening invasion.

The trials and tribulations of a radio correspondent can-
not be underestimated. Newsweek (December 17, 1939) gives
a detailed report of William L. Shirer of the strenuosities
of the work: He traveled two thousand nine hundred and
fifty miles (practically the distance between New York and
Los Angeles) by air, train, truck, bus, car, and horse-drawn
army carts. He averaged two hours sleep daily, mostly in his
clothes, and ate sandwiches, hot dogs, and coffee until — 'Td
rather starve than face them one more day." He had his best
meals with the Czech and German troops in the field: "It
was warm and wholesome (and) trading my American ciga-

340 RAPE OF RADIO

rettes against their food was a fair bargain. American ciga-
rettes were worth their weight in gold to them." German was
the universal language.

Despite these difficulties, Shirer managed to contribute his
part to the two thousand eight hundred and forty-seven
minutes of European broadcast carried by CBS: "I've bel-
lowed so long into the microphone and bad telephones that
my doctor says that if I don't keep my mouth shut for a few
days my voice will be gone entirely."

Max Jordan similarly went through rigors. Although he
suffered from a cold he made forty trips by plane through-
out Europe and was obliged to hire a substitute to speak
for him.

Jordan disclaims any inside track on his scoops. The four
power pact was signed at seven P.M. New York time and
forty-five minutes later, and a half-hour ahead of CBS, NBC
had the news on the air. This is the impartial attitude
which should characterize commentators who, in the phrase
of Caesar Saerchinger are merely "eavesdropping on his-
tory."

The third chapter covers the events at Godesburg where
Hitler handed Chamberlain a map indicating the territory
he intended to occupy and announced his intention to march
on Czechoslovakia.

The next period is crowded with events that led to the
pact of Munich. Hitler unconditionally rejects the ultima-
tum of the Czechs; Britain declares her purpose to associate
with France and Russia in resisting invasion of Cz'ech terri-
tory; Hitler makes a violent speech of denunciation; France
and England begin frantic preparations for war; the Little
Entente, Rumania and Jugo Slavia mobilize; President
Roosevelt makes a fervent appeal; the "last, last" efforts are
made by Sir Horace Wilson to halt the German armies and
finally a plea is made to Mussolini to use his influence on his
fellow dictator.

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 341

During that fitful period from September loth to Octo-
ber ist the networks were put on twenty-four hour duty and
on many occasions remained open throughout the night.
From the executive standpoint the situation demanded the
marshalling of experts both here and abroad. Programs
were frequently broken into with bulletins. As the inter-
national crisis increased, NBC and CBS broadcasts spread
over wide points of origin. On some succeeding days the
news bulleting and resumes were coming from as many as
five places on the European map.

America became accustomed to the cue spoken by Kalten-
born: "Calling Ed. Morrow . . . Come in Ed. Morrow."
Kaltenborn phoned Prague periodically and enumerated
first hand reports from Maurice Hindus on the man-in-
the-street reactions.

The man of the hour was H. V. Kaltenbom. The gray-
haired veteran of the airways practically lived at the studio
during this period. He spoke about two hours each day.

In this marathon of achievement, Kaltenborn is regarded
as one who taught Americans more about European events
in those twenty days than most of them had learned in a
lifetime. Kaltenborn's analyses, while not always brilliant,
were facile and illuminating. A man cannot always be a
prophet. His occasional lapses are to be forgiven. He be-
lieved until the last that Chamberlain was a man of honor.
He interpreted Hitler's final broadcast as a plea for peace
instead of the pronouncement of doom on President Benes
of the Czech nation. This slip-up caused Kaltenborn to
change his opinion on his very next talk.

The burden for European broadcasts rests largely on the
representatives of the networks stationed abroad. With Lon-
don as his headquarters, Morrow was acting as European Di-
rector for CBS, and in a similar capacity in Berlin was Max
Jordan of NBC.

The post of European Director requires more than usual

342 RAPE OF RADIO

gifts and experience. Some brief biographical notes may be
permitted here.

Morrow is a South Carolinian born, still in his early
thirties. He got an insight into European affairs as Assistant
Director of the Institute of International Education. In
1935 CBS enlisted him as Director of Talks which afforded
executive training in apportioning time space for political
broadcasts during the Presidential campaign of President
Roosevelt. The toga of Saerchinger fell upon Morrow when
the dean of European radio correspondents resigned in 1937.

William Shirer, assistant to Morrow, is a former Chicago
Tribune newspaperman who came to CBS after service with
Universal News.

Max Jordan, a former INS correspondent, holds the de-
gree of Ph. D. from the University of Jena, and is accredited
with keen political understanding of contemporary Europe.
His headquarters are in Basle. Fred Bate, established as the
London agent for NBC brings to his work the background
of twenty years' experience in business and newspaper en-
terprise. He was formerly secretary for Owen D. Young's
Reparation Committee.

The Mutual Network Representative is John Steele, who
was formerly chief of the Chicago Tribune, London Bureau,
from 1919 to 1935.

The Director's assignments are not restricted, for he must
be wherever he can serve best. His is no sinecure, making
jumps from city to city with a suitcase, making arrangements
for open circuits, breaking down the barriers of officialdom,
consulting radio-director generals, interviewing the man-of-
the moment, contacting foreign chancelleries, engaging the
best available commentators and always keeping in touch
with New York office by Transatlantic telephone and pre-
pared at any moment to step into the breach.

Allocating all his forces on the continent, Morrow ar-
ranged to have William Shirer at Geneva. John Whittaker

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 343

of the Chicago Tribune was stationed in Paris. Kenneth
Downs of the International News Service. In Berlin, White-
leather of the Associated Press and Pierre Huss of INS,
Mathew Halton of the Toronto Star, the distinguished
British Sir Frederick White.

The rival networks were not to be outdone in their prep-
arations. With indefatigable skill, Max Jordan and his as-
sistant Bate made arrangements to broadcast: from Prague,
the commentary of Karl von Wiegand, correspondent of
INS; also from Prague, Walter B. Kerr, correspondent of the
New York Herald Tribune; from Berlin, Walter Deuell of
the Chicago Daily News; from London, Gordon Lenox of
the London Daily Telegraph.

Morrow himself up to 1935 participated personally in some
thirty-five broadcasts and arranged a total of one hundred
and fifty-one short wave programs from European centers. It
is difficult to realize the strain of making a personal broadcast
at seven a.m. and working throughout the night until the
next morning at six a.m. Yet this was precisely the routine
of Morrow on September 28, 1938, when from London he
connected CBS with Frank Grandin in Paris, introduced
commentator from the House of Commons, arranged a pick-
up from Prague, induced Pierre Bedard to interpret the
speech of Premier Daladier, swung to Berlin to give Wil-
liam Shirer the outlet to America, returned once more to
Prague for the comment of Vincent Sheean, and then
introduced the Archbishop of Canterbury and Stephan King-
Hall and finally wound up his day with summaries from
Paris and Czechoslovakia.

The influence of the foreign radio correspondent is not
yet quite determined. Some believe that his influence on
America's reaction to foreign news is more vital than all the
newspaper editorial judgments combined. A certain amount
of discretion is necessary in broadcasting from Europe. If
the network does not keep itself personna grata with the

344 RAPE OF RADIO

foreign offices, it will find itself in hot water. The radio for-
eign correspondents must be mindful that there will be
other days when they will need cooperation. They must be-
ware of prodding the sore spots.

Such a post requires utmost diplomacy without a sur-
render to the lie. Otherwise the commentator would be
just a tool for foreign propaganda. In times of crisis the
voice of the foreign correspondent may be constrained by
government officials. The news broadcasts from foreign gov-
ernments in themselves cannot be trusted. During the
Czech oslo vakian crisis, WOR made recordings of foreign
short wave broadcasts from foreign governments and then
rebroadcast them side-by-side. There can be no more elo-
quent evidence of the difficulty of getting at the truth.

Special Events

Special events are divided into four groups:

1. Sporting events.

2. News coverage.

3. Civic enterprise.

4. Novelties in special events broadcasts.

In times of emergency the microphone reporter is on the
scene to perform a public service. The networks have per-
formed a signal service in sending calls for blood donors,
making appeals for food and medical supplies during emer-
gencies and advancing the campaign for safety in driving.
Under this head, too, come the broadcasts of speeches of
celebrities including those of the president of the United
States. These programs generally can be arranged for in
advance. Novelty broadcasts are always extremely appealing
because they break through the familiar routine and bring
to the listener a sense of the ludicrous. In addition, they
do not cost much, and yet command the largest audiences.

The networks have performed a signal public service in

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 345

the organization of a special News and Special Events Divi-
sion. Included under this general title are news reports at
the scene, descriptions of significant local, national and in-
ternational happenings and broadcasts of the speeches of men
and women in the public eye. In addition this division
concerns itself with the announcing of major sports events.

Let us glance at a typical network set-up to handle the
news. At NBC the work is co-ordinated by a Director who
commands the services of division officers in San Francisco,
Hollywood, Denver, Cleveland, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Sche-
nectady and Washington. The Special Events Department
of a network functions like a metropolitan newspaper. Tele-
types provide them with the sending apparatus and a power
plant. A pack transmitter that fits on a man's back is used
at such spots that the truck cannot reach. The engineer
straps the transmitter on his back, runs to the scene and
short-waves his story back to the truck where it is re-broadcast
and short-waved to the big station whence it is relayed to the
world.

The newspaper man has an advantage over the radio re-
porter. He has only to be on the spot, find out what goes on
and then telephone, or telegraph the City Editor. The radio
reporter must have his portable short-wave equipment, for
he is forbidden by the FCC regulations from phoning his
headquarters from the scene or to have his voice put over
the air by the ordinary phone circuit. An exception was
made during the Hindenburg explosion at Lakehurst, N. J.,
when a radio announcer rushed into the only available tele-
phone booth and held his ground until NBC's sound equip-
ment was rushed by plane and truck from Philadelphia.

The "Seeing Eye" and "Hearing Ear"

Many special events announcers have not advanced
beyond the primary stage in the art of oral description. A

346 RAPE OF RADIO

trained newspaperman, able to write vividly about an event
he observes, may fail utterly in his oral style. For the broad-
caster, oral skills indeed are more important. Once he is
on the spot the special news broadcaster is on his own. His
problem is complex. He is to convey a moving picture in
words equivalent to the motion picture camera. The com-
mentator is as good as his words. Such an effort requires a
vocabulary which kindles the imagination.

A sparse vocabulary cannot stir a spark in the listener.
The piling up of hackneyed adjectives, and continued repe-
tition of the same word, defeats its own purpose. The com-
mentator cannot overcome the lack of his own imagination
by the abuse of superlatives such as "grand," "wonderful,"
"glorious."

One would not suspect a British announcer of being de-
ficient in the King's English. Yet the broadcast of the
Coronation of George VI found the British announcers
hopelessly obsessed by such favorite phrases as "You wouldn't
believe!" This is all perfectly wonderful!" One annoyed
American counted some dozen utterances of "This magnifi-
cent spectacle!"

The British are accustomed to long pauses. Our ears are
used to swift continuity, no breaks, plenty of ad libbing,
and a pause of more than twenty seconds leads the listener
to believe the wire has gone "dead."

Nothing more easily exposes the emptiness of a news re-
porter than his groping for words at a time when the listener
is keyed to the situation. The spot announcer should be
guided by the adage: "Words are like parachutes — they are
of no use unless they open up." The elementary principles
of description are more often ignored by the broadcaster.
Only a few of these principles are here set down in their
application to broadcasting.

i. Oral description requires accurate observation. The
primary function of the special talents announcers is to in-

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 347

form. The "seeing eye" translates the scene to the "hearing
ear" who, what, where, when, why. The broadcaster's mental
impression must be clear before he talks into the micro-
phone what he sees and feels, so that the listener gets an
accurate picture of what you read over with clarity and the
rest is easier.

2. It is best at first to present such a picture or impression
as one would get from a first glance. One gives attention to
the mass. From general impressions, pass to the most striking,
interesting and significant details. Almost by intuition the
trained observer decides which are the more commanding
things worth talking about. Emphasis requires that im-
portant matters stand out and that minor details be kept
in the background. Too many details will make it difficult
for the listener to hold the parts of the story together.

3. The order of observation is generally the space order:
foreground to background, top to bottom, center to circum-
ference, right to left. Specific references such as "on the
right, just beyond, in the distance," will help the listener
to visualize special relations. As an aid to this impression,
it is important to indicate the point of view as fixed,
changed, or moving.

If the broadcaster is to remain in one fixed spot, it is im-
portant to select the most favorable point of view. If a
switch is made from one position to another, say from the
limb of a tree to the balcony of a house, the listener must
be reminded of the change to the new point of view. If the
announcer is in a plane reporting army air maneuvers in a
supposed foreign attack on our Atlantic seaboard, the point
of view is constantly changing and the panorama is con-
tinuously indicated.

4. A unified description of the scene requires an appro-
priate ending. Many broadcasters leave the report of the
scene literally in the whole air. The ending should convey

348 RAPE OF RADIO

the dominant mood of the broadcaster, with the emphasis
on some important detail.

5. If you feel you have exhausted your powers or want
your own point of view augmented, turn the microphone
over to an assistant. This is called "bouqueting," in radio
parlance.

It pays to tell the truth. No need to exaggerate and fall
into melodrama of your own creation. Floyd Gibbons once
tried this in a broadcast of the Ohio River Flood, falsely
indicating that sensational happenings were taking place
when they were not taking place. He was sued by the script
writer for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars damages
who held that his reputation had been marred. Subse-
quently the suit was withdrawn.

Military Analysis Commentator

A new class of commentators grew up out of the war.
These are military analysis commentators who study the
military tactics and moves of the powers and report their
observations over the air. Army and Navy experts are not
permitted to air their views during their active service.

These experts are generally former military men or retired
officers in the aviation, land or sea forces of England or
America. For a time General Hugh Johnson was NBC's mili-
tary observer. Major George Fielding Eliot speaks for
WABC, makes summaries of the evening European short
wave round-ups. He brings coherence to conflicting claims
and outlines the probable course of action. Most of the com-
mentators are poor in voice, speak in monotones and punc-
tuate their remarks by heavy breath. Nevertheless they re-
main popular with the listeners.

The radio war reporter has come to stay. Who knows
whether short wave transmitters may be set up near battle-

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 349

fields. The time may come when war authorities will grant
the privilege of broadcasting the actual combat.

First attempt to convey war news from the scene of battle
is credited to Floyd Gibbons. In 1932 he was assigned to the
Manchurian war zone by NBC. The zest of Floyd's voice
brought to America the sound of big Japanese guns booming
over the Chinese masses.

H. V. Kaltenborn was in the heat of the Spanish conflict.
Making his headquarters at Hendaye, he dashed into the
Loyalist headquarters and then rushed into the Insurgent
territory. He sought interviews with the leaders on both
sides and got material at first hand.

The battlefront approached the frontier town of Irun.
From the rooftop of his hotel, Kaltenborn was able to re-
port the actual process of the fighting. He made a running
commentary of the horrors of the conflict just as a football
commentator does, with the battle on the gridiron. Kalten-
born was on the scene of the bombardment at Fort Guada-
lupe by two Insurgent men-of-war. He was able to report
the attack even while the machine-gun fire and the whirring
aeroplanes roared.

His report: "In a moment or two, when the machine gun
which has been barking intermittently all evening sounds
again, I will stop talking for a moment in order that you
may get something of the sound of this civil war as it con-
tinues through the night. This farm is the one most near
to the fighting scene . . . located some three hundred yards
from the lines where rebels and government soldiers are
fighting it out tonight. (Sound of rifle fire.) Those are iso-
lated shots which are being exchanged by the front-line
sentinels on both sides."

"The value of such broadcasts is being questioned," says
Caesar Saerchinger. People are affected by hearing the first
hand account of the battlefield, with realistic sound effects

350 RAPE OF RADIO

of explosion and groans. This realistic impression arouses
peace loving instincts or stirs up animus and hate.

Oral Styles in Description

Radio is not always impartial to styles of oral description.
One style in giving facts, is a precise statement of happen-
ings. The other might be called "impressionistic descrip-
tion." It plays upon the listener's imagination and conveys
something of that emotion which the speaker himself ex-
periences.

The impressionistic method is less concerned with descrip-
tion as such. It emphasizes mood and emotion rather than
the physical point of view. If the broadcaster is oppressed
by gloom at the sight of destructive flood, he must attempt
to convey this mood to the listener. If he is thrilled by the
sight of deeds of courage and darings, his choice of words
should reflect those sensations and emotions.

Consider those announcers who were assigned to Lake-
hurst, New Jersey, to broadcast the arrival of the giant
dirigible "Hindenburg" on that fatal afternoon. The
dirigible circles the mooring mast and suddenly bursts into
flames. Should the announcer be constrained to a mere re-
cital of the facts, or shall he convey the pathos and tragedy
of the episode?

The networks do not strait-jacket their special events an-
nouncers to any one method. Where freedom is permitted,
the ideal broadcast embraces both factual and impressionistic
style. Word pictures do more than record, as does the eye of
a camera. External things, even if faithfully reported, are
sufficient for the listener. A good oral description centers
the attention of the listener on one emotion and makes every
detail add to the effect.

The reign of George VI will be noted for the first Corona-
tion broadcast in history. The commentators who were as-

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 351

signed ic report ;Jie ceremonies, v.ere warned that ihey
must, evoke neither admiration nor humiliation. They <•, ere
to regard themselves as the "eyes of the empire." It is esti-
mated that out of four hundred million British subjects,
fully two-thirds of the number listened in. Instead of vis-
ualizing the pageantry with color and enthusiasm, the British
announcers did themselves proud by clamping the lid on
their impulses. The announcers acting under restraint, can
never fulfill their job perfectly. Such solemnity was seldom
heard on the air, and at six-sixteen a.m. of the broadcast an
announcer coughed. Alton Cook reports that this was the
broadcast's first slip from schedule.

The act of the announcer joins narrative and description
with moods, emotions, interests and subjective states of
mind. First of all, the announcer himself must be stirred.
The listener can best test the values of a broadcast by de-
termining to what degree his primary senses are touched.
If mere words can conjure up sight and provoke a memory
of sound, smell, taste, touch — the announcer has achieved
something.

A Few Workout Exercises

You are ordered to talk through your hat.

Imagine you are George Hicks, of WEAF, wearing a top-
hat transmitter, mingling with the crowds on Fifth avenue
during the Easter Parade. Describe the scene as you talk
through your hat. Your hat contains a portable compact
microphone station inside. A tiny feather-like aerial sticks
from the brim of the silk topper, and a little microphone is
in your coat lapel. A mobile transmitter is in the street and
will intercept your broadcast from your miniature outfit
and relay it to Radio City headquarters of NBC for trans-
mission over the networks.

A special events announcer never knows the precarious
spots from which he will have to broadcast. Suppose you

352 RAPE OF RADIO

were assigned to traipse the eight-inch catwalk of the un-
finished dirigible, Akron, and had to walk sixty feet above
the hangar? Jimmie Wallington, on this occasion, suddenly
got dizzy and fell, but saved himself by being fortunate
enough to straddle the narrow metal plank.

WJZ's Sunday afternoon variety program of October 20,
1937, arranged a pick-up from a submarine making a quick
dive to the bottom of the Atlantic. You are the first of the'
volunteers called for from the announcing staff to make the
"crash dive." Describe the proceedings through a mike.

The sun is shining on a perfect day on June 18, 1937, in
New York. On the top of the Andes in Peru the sun is about
to fade out in a total eclipse. You are standing at an eleva-
tion of ten thousand feet on the crest of a mountain. De-
scribe the phenomena so that listeners all over the globe can
"watch" the spectacle in the eerie darkness.

It is the longest total eclipse (1937) in twelve hundred
years. It was Bill Perry, the WABC announcer who made this
ascent up the Andes in Peru for the broadcast. He charac-
terized the place of vantage as "a point where modern science
and ancient superstitions meet." We quote here a portion
of his broadcast.

"It's getting frightfully dark now," exclaimed Perry. "The
shadows are creeping up this valley, and from our perch here
in the churchyard of a quaint old adobe church, which must
have been built goodness knows how long ago, we are look-
ing toward the sea and the eclipse.

"We're almost near totality. Like a huge dim — oh, look
at the prominence — those flame-like things shooting up.
Listen a moment to the people — all the children are crying.
Look at that gorgeous corona. It's beginning to appear. You
know the shape. Well, it's almost round. Over there is Mars.
Yes, in the twilight, on the western horizon.

"Look at the yellow comet. There's a bat just flying di-
rectly overhead. There's a very interesting sight just over

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 353

on the western horizon. It looks like the last tinge of a dying
sunset over there — salmon color, fading off into a greenish
yellow on top before fading to a dull gray of the entire—
that's almost violet, isn't it? The stars are such tiny but very
far pinpoints in this very thin air out here. Looking at the
sun itself now. Oh, see that prominence brighten out from
the bottom of the sun. I can think of only one word — gar-
gantuan. The totality is over. The sun is coming back. Now
it's flashing out and something of light has begun to appear.
I think it certainly grips you and oh, it is the greatest
spectacle on earth!"

Imagine yourself at Juneau (Alaska). One afternoon, the
outgoing tide leaves a whale stranded high and dry. The
manager of the radio station rigs up a microphone and
runs close out to the whale, announcing: ''Hello, everybody.
You're hearing the first actual broadcast of a live whale on
the beach. The next sound you will hear will be the whale
thumping the ground. Listen! Smack! And now listen to him
blow: 'Whhooooooooo-ish!' " (Juneau, Alaska, 1937).

You are at the base of one of the great pyramids. By ar-
rangement with the Egyptian State Broadcasting Service,
do your stuff before the microphone (NBC, February 7,

1938).

Another workout: You are the NBC representative in
Italy. Take your portable transmitter and fly into the crater
of Vesuvius. Report all of the noises, the virtual inferno, in-
cluding the whistling steam jets, the roar of flowing lava and
what have you.

Novelty Reporting

There is a thrill for the announcers and listeners alike in
novelty reporting. These are the stunts of radio. A few ex-
amples: Jump from a parachute giving your impressions
during the leap. John Read King, announcer, and Gwen
McCleary, interviewer, had barely time to laugh before

354 RAPE OF RADIO

they were on the ground in an attempt made for WABC
in July 1939. All is not so rosy, however. In another test, a
jumper was injured in landing because of the heavy pack
transmitter strapped to his back.

Think of the swallows who every year unfailingly never
miss swooping down upon Juan Capistrano Mission, Cali-
fornia, from the Pacific for their bow before the microphone.
Tell the story of the wandering swallows and give them a
chance to send out tidings of their arrival under the eaves
of the church.

The talking bird that stayed silent on Fred Allen's pro-
gram for six weeks ought to have been a lesson enough,
but broadcasters have sought animals and birds to go through
their stunts none the less. NBC shipped crickets all the way
from Vermont, but the crickets did not let out a chirp and
the announcer was apologetic.

Graham McNamee once rose to heights of great eloquence
when Kuda Bux actually ran through a pit of glowing em-
bers for the Bob Ripley program on WEAF, and emerged
apparently unscorched.

Not to be outdone by noises of animals on the air, Ahe
Schecter thought up the novelty of a broadcasting singing
mouse contest. Everyone, it seemed, had a prima donna
mouse in the house. To solve the problem of superiority, an
eminent jury of voice critics judged which was the best
mouse. This was won by Mickey, a five-inch American
specimen.

The special events division produced twelve hundred can-
didates of the animal speaking world for the edification of its
listeners. Among the performers, were a talking crow, a Tou-
louse goose, two cockatoos, a magpie, a macaw, and many
African Grays. Parrots are judged by diction, originality of
expression, vocabulary and voice quality. The smartest par-
rot of the 1938 crop was the pet of Carl Carmen of New

PROPAGANDA RULES THE WAVES 355

York. With vigorous enunciation he kept repeating: "This
is the National Broadcasting Company." Oh, wise bird!

Snakes are the most reliable radio performers. Rattle-
snakes have been on several programs and a bang or two on
the side of the cage never failed to stir the reptile into
audible protest, heard round the world.

In June 1938 Bill Ware of WKRC was assigned to hold a
heifer's tail in one hand and grasp the microphone with the
other as fast as he could and tell listeners all about it. But
this happens only in Texas where the announcers learn a
few radio tricks.

11

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS

SPORTS has remained the one department of the news
in which broadcasting is supreme. No other method is
swifter while athletic events are in the making. No one has
accurately estimated the number of listeners who tune in
during the sports programs. The figure would be at least
approximate to that huge army of readers who avidly turn
to their favorite sports columnist.

The selective draft emphasized the relation of athletics to
physical fitness. It has given enormous impetus to sports,
and increased the aggregate value of athletic and sporting
goods manufactured in the United States.

Radio in sports merely followed the trend of the newsreel
and the newspaper. Every newsreel traditionally contains
at least from twenty to fifty per cent of footage devoted to
sports. So keen is America's interest in the news that no
metropolitan paper could exist without catering to the fan.
If the newspaper dropped its sports pages it would probably
lose from one-half to two-thirds of its circulation. Sports
programs have a definite spot on the networks. No sooner
is an important athletic event advertised than the broad-
casters negotiate to get the radio rights. These programs in-
clude every variety of sport including turtle-catching and
hog-calling.

Treatment of every game from the broadcaster's viewpoint
would be encyclopaedic. The radio list of games is for-
midable.

Games Out of the Loudspeaker

General: Baseball; football (association and rugby, college
and professional); Softball; tennis; golf; boxing; wrestling;

356

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 357

croquet; hockey; handball; polo (water, bicycle, horse, air);
cricket; billiards and pool; ping-pong; squash rackets; la-
crosse; fencing; and archery.

Racing: Horse; automobile; motorcycle; aeroplane; grey-
hound and whippet; six-day bicycle races.

Track and Field Athletics: Mile; marathon and cross-
country races; hurdling; hammerthrow; javelin and discus-
throwing; broad and high jumping; pole-vaulting, etc.

Young People's Games: Marble contests; soapbox derby;
aeroplane and glider contests.

Swimming and Diving: All styles, heights and distances.

Winter Sports: Skating (figure and racing); ice-hockey;
skiing; tobogganing and ice-boat racing; curling.

Nautical: Sculling; canoeing; rowing; yachting; sailboat;
motorboat; life boats.

Endurance and Other Contests: Marathon dancing; flag-
pole sitting; hog-calling; corn-husking; milking, etc.

How to Become a Sports Announcer and Win Friends

Sports broadcasting holds out fascinating prospects to
the announcer. More often the preparation and actual effort
is perspiring. Your attempts are subject to the sharpest criti-
cal judgment of listeners who may know more about the
game than you do. They will set you down as a rank amateur
who had better stay at home, if you are not careful.

The task, however, is not so heroic as it seems. Try cram-
ming upon Frank G. Menke's "Encyclopedia of Sports"
which covers over one hundred sports from rollo poly to
aviation, the result of research of over two thousand books.
A sports broadcaster should have a feeling for amateur and
professional attainment. He must follow the day-by-day re-
ports and lend ear to gossip and chatter. He must be familiar
with every angle of the game, and know the statistics and
the literature on the subject. Experience as a writer or

358 RAPE OF RADIO

newspaper reporter is helpful training in accurate observa-
tion and the use of sports English.

It is a fiction that one must have been somewhat of an
expert player to be a successful sports broadcaster in any
special field. True, actual practice in baseball, football, box-
ing and the major sports will give you added confidence and
understanding. Such experience offers no criteria that you
possess the gifts of voice and imagination and those other
intangible qualities which will make you a national radio
personality.

Every sports broadcast has its peculiar complexities as
may the game itself. There is no particular trick or open
sesame that belongs especially to this field. A contest is
always going on before your eyes. Always there is drama.
Two forces are opposed to one another, and one must win
or lose or both come out even. The important attributes of
a sports commentator can be measured in a general review
of his own abilities along the lines of these questions:

1. Have I a sense of dramatics sufficient to appreciate the
dynamics of a sports contest?

2. Can I evaluate skills and measure the abilities of one
team or individual against the other?

3. Have I originality of thought and expression in the
vernacular of the game?

4. Am I facile and varied in the use of words? The an-
nouncer should have at his command a wealth of adjectives
and phrases. The maudlin repetition of "What a fight! Boy,
what fight!" is an admission of verbal weakness. Don Wil-
son almost ruined his broadcast by the ceaseless repetition
of the adjective "stalwart" to describe Stanford's players
and Ted Husing's reference to his ears as "auricular ap-
pendages" ceased to be humor. Sam Taub, during the Brad-
dock-Farr encounter, clung to the phrase "the crowd is going
haywire" until the listener fell into a similar state.

5. How does my broadcast stand up under the test of the

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 359

three specific virtues of simplicity — clarity, liveliness, variety
and dramatic flavor?

6. Have I gathered all the available news for future refer-
ence? Bill Stern averages four hours of broadcasting weekly
but spends some seventy hours preparing.

Golf, Tennis and Yacht Races

Golf has limited possibilities for the announcer blessed
with imagination or with descriptive sensibilities. Golf gives
little scope to the announcer's gift of language. An acute
observer of the game once said that the only part of the golf
broadcast that is not a yawn is one about five minutes long
summarizing the results. What excitement is there in hear-
ing "Hagen is now addressing the ball. Ah, he's sliced into
the rough?"

Golf announcers used to stay within a wire's length of the
clubhouse or carry a pack transmitter on their backs. When
Ted Husing covered the National Amateur Golf Champion-
ship in 1936 he had to stand on the edge of the green during
the puttings and speak in a hissing whisper so as not to
disturb the players. His new invention is a periscope affair
which can be planted behind the crowd. It magnifies the
ball, cup and player ten times and at that distance from the
players Husing can swing out with his usual gusto.

The broadcast of the National Open Golf Tournament
at Philadelphia on June 10, 1939, employed new devices in
accurate and swift reporting. The broadcast was made from
a mobilized unit equipped with a short wave system.
Equipped with wheels of aeroplane size the vehicle could be
rolled over to the field without hurting the grass. The slight
hum in the phone was the purr of the motor or generator
which received signals from the clubhouse.

Ted Husing, working in conjunction with an assistant,
took the microphone to verify reports or to analyze the

360 RAPE OF RADIO

plays. In addition a runner brought in fresh news from the
scores. The changes of voice helped break up the monotony
of reporting. Here was a game regarded as the classic of Golf
— the play off of a triple in a National Golf Championship.

The top of a mobile unit is a precarious perch at its best.
"Your commentator," said Husing apologetically, "is speak-
ing from the top of a mobile unit. Perhaps you will under-
stand. I want to catch my breath. People are trying to jump
up on our wagon."

Occasionally he carries on a conversation with Harry
Nash, in semi-interview fashion, asking for verifications.

"The ball is like a soap bubble." "It stopped as though
there were a magnet on the green."

"She's rolling straight. We'll watch the cup . . . and here
comes Craig Wood . . . wait a minute — hits a tree —
bounces off at right angles . . . not a tree but a person
. . . let's go right up ... hit somebody on the head . . .
the police are out there . . . move out all these wires . . .
Jimmy, most amazing thing, while I fix these wires . . . talk
about that, Harry."

At the eighteenth, Wood reeled off a two hundred and
eighty yard drive down the middle, with Nelson fifteen yards
in the rear. Nelson's finish is regarded as one of the gamest
exhibitions ever seen in golf.

Such a game is an unusual test of physical stamina for
the broadcaster. For over three hours he was continuously
on the air, with moments of rest only when his assistant,
Harry Nash, broke in to air a collection of notes. The com-
mentator's task is to make the radio audience throb with
the excitement that infects the gallery. He observes the ter-
rain, the traps, the condition of the wind, indicates the
players' position at each stroke and summarizes. Sometimes
he waxes eloquent "That is what we call 'Golf Divinity.'
Shot making has been exemplary."

Automobile racing, from a radio viewpoint, is not the

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 361

sport of death-defying thrills that it is for the spectators.
Here is the demon Speed, toying with tragedy. Will man or
machine be victor or victim? Try as hard as they may,
broadcasters have never conveyed to listeners the thrill of
the scene. In the three hundred mile Vanderbilt Cup race
at the Roosevelt Raceway in Westbury, Long Island, on
October 13, 1936, McNamee attempted to convey the im-
pression of speed and excitement by shouting, — which is a
futile substitute for the real thing. Ted Husing, who held
sway over the CBS microphone, wasted a lot of time spout-
ing meaningless phrases about track layout.

Least interesting is the microphone story of the automo-
bile races in Indianapolis. A rumble, a roar, a "here he
comes" and "there he goes" is about all the broadcaster can
make of it. At least that is all they ever have made of it.

The broadcaster must convey the duel at all angles, the
changes of pace in speed. Paul Gallico expresses the impulse
of the view which "artistically as well as emotionally is
satisfied. A good player increases the length of his drives
shot after shot the way an artillerist lays a creeping barrage
forcing an opponent beyond his own base line and then
suddenly finishes with a drop shot and falls just over the
net or reversing the procedure tees his man toward the
center court and then angles him."

Alton Cook observes that basketball and hockey broadcasts
can easily slip into confused verbal jumbles." These two
sports are difficult for an announcer to picture because the
action switches from end to end of floor or rink with be-
wildering activity. With the added handicap of not knowing
which team is doing what these broadcasts become affairs
exclusively for the fans of the expert class. The listener is
obliged to memorize a few dozen names in advance to keep
track of who has the ball or puck.

Polo may be the aristocrat of all sports . . . but com-
pared to hoi-polloi baseball, the game lacks loudspeaker

362 RAPE OF RADIO

thrills. Even Ted Husing, who described the championship
contest between Greentree and Old Westbury, failed to
make it interesting.

Tennis broadcasters have the air of addressing themselves
to other tennis experts. Casual listeners are made to feel
that they might as well wait for the final announcement of
the score and let it go at that. Vincent Richards, who re-
ported at the Bill Tilden-Perry game of 1937, belongs to the
calm and straight-forward school of announcers. He does not
bother to make things seem more exciting than they really
are. Richards skips the less important shots in the rally. He
uses surprisingly little tennis vernacular. The trick in such
a broadcast is to summarize as the game progresses and
describe the final coup in detail.

Broadcasters do scant justice to the speed and daring of
sport's most thrilling event, the Memorial Day speedway
races. The least interesting is the broadcast of the five hun-
dred mile classic race at Indianapolis which is regarded as the
most dangerous, richest, longest, and fastest in the United
States. One listener sums up his impression of the broadcast:
"Calling 'a rumble,' 'they're off,' 'there he goes' is all the
broadcasters can make of it." And this in spite of the fact
that the broadcasters use the latest short wave equipment in
order to be free from the necessity of working on one spot
on the track and are thus able to cover four hundred and
forty-three acres of the ground on any part of the two mile
track with complete mobility.

International Cup Races call for a battery of announcers
along the thirty-mile course. On land and sea and in the air
are stationed the vocal reporters of the scene. In practice the
networks engage special yachting experts to lend authority
to the broadcast. Ted Husing, for example, in the 1937
races, was assisted by Sherman Hoyt and Edward P. Foster,
American yachting experts, and John Hughes, British
authority. WOR engages Cameron to assist the regular

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 363

Special Events broadcaster, David Driscoll, with the tech-
nical aspects.

For CBS, George Hicks and Professor Kenneth M. Davi-
son follow on the Coast Guard cutter "Sebago." From a
plane overhead, Bill Stern relays his impressions of the race.
At the finish line in a patrol boat is Arthur Feldman, ready
to complete the picture with a recital of closing events. The
race begins. Two sleek yachts, — the defender, ''Ranger,"
entered by Harold S. Vanderbilt; the challenger, "En-
deavor II," sponsored by T. O. M. Sopwith.

The start of each day's race is broadcast from twelve-thirty
to one p.m. A report of the progress of the race is given from
one-twenty-five to one-thirty each day and at intervals
throughout the afternoon. And in addition to these eye
witnesses, one of the experts is heard in a daily resume of
the races between six-fifteen and six-thirty p.m. There are
dreary gaps that need filling in. A fog settles on the water.
The announcer cannot describe what he does not see. The
listener is left to the mercy of the announcer who, if he
lacks wit and authority, may become as dreary as the
weather.

At Poughkeepsie Ted Husing had a terrible time battling
the elements, and he was further hampered by the low
barometric pressure which lowered the smoke of the ob-
servation-train engine and formed a screen between the
announcer and the crews hurrying down the Hudson. With
vision obscured by mist and rain it is no easy task to call
the winner.

The Fight Is on the Air!

The super magnet of all radio programs is a heavyweight
championship fight. All the suppressed and primitive sav-
agery of man is stirred by the combat. Statisticians estimate
that ninety-six percent of all the radio sets are tuned to

364 RAPE OF RADIO

the fistic battle. The nation, moved as if by mass hysteria,
becomes one huge listening machine. The championship
fight indeed has more listeners than the broadcast of Presi-
dent Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Heavyweight championship fights make the generators
hum to supply a "tidal wave of current." The electrical
meters begin to show an increased consumption about a half
hour before the bout due to the snapping on of thousands
of radio "on switches," and electric lights.

The first sports event that was broadcast was a heavy-
weight championship, the first million-dollar gate. The
historic setting was laid at Boyle's Thirty Acres in Jersey
City on July 21, 1921. To the martial strains of the "Mar-
seillaise," ninety thousand men and women rose from their
seats to greet "Gorgeous" Georges Carpentier who had come
fresh from war laurels from the heart of Paris to wrest the
title from Jack Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler.

Major J. Andrew White did first honors before the micro-
phone. To him may be accredited the title of "Pioneer
Sports Broadcaster," who convinced the skeptical officials
that a championship bout was an event of national interest
that deserved the air.

Technically, the plan seemed simple enough, and station
WJZ at once undertook the work of installation. The rest
was left to fate.

Equipment was hastily set in place; a wire line linked to
the ringside microphone with a transmitter; an aerial strung
between the wireless towers of the Lackawanna Railroad
near Hoboken; radiophone housed in a galvanized shack
near the yards. The fight is on the air! A brief color story:
the frightful humidity of that July afternoon; aeroplanes
overhead, the Manassa Mauler seated in the arc of a huge
floral horseshoe, and the expectant throng awaiting the bell.
Major White, huddled close to the resined canvas was to
chronicle the slaughter blow by blow. His voice came over

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 365

the air, mixed with static and noises from the scene of the
conflict. Dempsey swings upward to the jaw. ... In the
first half minute Carpentier hits the dust. . . . Four rounds
. . . The Frenchman is down . . . for the count. Hysteri-
cal mob.

The public received this broadcast as a revelation of
radio's possibilities. Listeners got the result instantly and
did not have to wait for the next morning or evening edition
to digest a newspaper yarn. Where else would the micro-
phone be carried in reporting sports events? Broadcasting
was then but one year old. Remember, too, that this was the
era of the crystal set and earphone. Yet this broadcast was
the beginning of the period when the blare of radio was
heard in the public streets. Such was the demand for the
fight result that shopkeepers rigged up old phonograph horns
outside their windows to magnify the sound. It was all done
by the simple expedient of clamping the earphones of their
radios to the horns. Thus the voice of Major White was
blared to the crowds on the street who were in the same
throes of excitement as the seventy-five thousand who paid
$1,789,000 to watch the struggle. The radio audience for
this broadcast is estimated at some two hundred thousand.

Advance the time a little more than five years, to
September 23, 1926, and change the scene to the Sesqui-
Centennial in Philadelphia. Here Tunney takes the measure
of Dempsey in a torrential rain, when within a half hour
he batters the supposedly invincible champion beyond
recognition. This is a historical battle for radio because it
is the first to be broadcast by a network (WEAF), and also
because it is the first championship fight to have an inter-
national radio hook-up. Shortwave brought the fistic battle
to Europe, South Africa and South America. This time
approximately fifteen million people abroad cupped their
ears to the voice of Graham McNamee and Major J. Andrew
White,

366 RAPE OF RADIO

Fight broadcasting over the years became a prized feature.
The Louis-Braddock fight of 1937 helped to bring about a
strong competition for the right to broadcast major bouts.
Both networks bid for the privilege, each hoping to find a
sponsor to take over the financial burden.

Yesterday's Fight Broadcasts

Older fans will remember fight broadcasting as an ex-
tended and exciting affair. The listener was permitted to
revel in the full noises of the arena. He caught the clamor
and frenzy of the crowd. The preliminaries were on the air
at least a half hour before the major battle. The announcer
was on the spot to interview celebrities and to pick up the
sidelights. He packed the minutes with quick verbal pictures
that lifted the emotions to high pitch.

Ringside broadcasting has greatly changed since the days
of the Dempsey-Tunney bout. The Schmeling-Louis bout of
1936 ushered in a new routine. Today the sponsor pays for
time, and the time is limited to the sponsor's contract. The
sponsor of the Louis-Schmeling fight of 1938 figured on
clearing the wave lengths of over a hundred stations for
sixty minutes, but the program was ended almost before it
started. He was billed only for the time consumed which in
actual fighting was two minutes and four seconds.

Many look back with regret at the changes in fight broad-
casting. Much of the atmosphere of the early days is omitted.
No longer is the fighter followed in his picturesque journey
down the aisles from the dressing room to the ropes of the
arena. Now the announcer often reads from a prepared
script which is presumed to add color to the scene. Back-
ground noises are coldly cut out of the perfected microphone
of today, or else the roar and excitement are filtered to a
point that makes the arena sound like a tranquil gathering
at tea time. There were days when listeners got the real

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 367

thing in excitement, and could catch the shrieks of entreaty
from the crowd.

Today the listener catches faintly the hollow echoes of a
Joe Humphreys introducing the contestants and calling their
weights. And during all this, the radio announcer in control
of the mike may be reading from his script. The gong rings.
The mike passes from the announcer who has just "colored"
the scene, to the expert who describes the blow-by-blow
action. Words fly faster than fists, but only once in a while
can the listener catch the thunder of the arena crowd. Sel-
dom is heard that atavistic cry, 'Tight, yah yellow bum.
You're layin' down on me. Fight, yah tramp!"

Fights no longer live on the air a half-hour after the bout.
In the early days, the fan was regaled with running com-
mentary from fight veterans or celebrities who had seen the
fight. Radio time permits neither postlude or post-mortem.
The fight once ended is ended.

Can a Fight Broadcaster Be Honest?

Except for a few one-sided matches, almost every major
fistic battle has launched furious arguments about the
honesty of the commentator. The broadcaster's view is often
at total variance with the facts as disclosed by the camera
and newspaper accounts. One caustic critic has remarked
that if the listener were to attempt to see eye to eye with
the broadcasting description of a fight, and the newspaper
accounts, he (the listener) would be apt to become cross-
eyed.

Announcers should be impartial, and their judgment
uncolored by prejudice or favoritism. Trouble is caused by
people who insist on knowing right at the moment whether
the punch is a hook or a right cross. "Blows are not always
what they seem," said McNamee. "A dramatic roundhouse
swing that should fell an ox often seems to have no effect.

368 RAPE OF RADIO

The damaging blows and frequently the knock-out punches
are never seen. In the interest of accuracy the blows cannot
be called as they fall." As a rule, McNamee, who originated
the "excitement" school does not bother much with these
details.

What some critics call frantic to the point of the ludicrous
may bring very powerful sensations to the listener. There
was Clem McCarthy on the night of the historic Louis-
Schmeling battle. A second after the decision he was able
to corral Louis to the microphone. But Schmeling, tem-
porarily dazed, remained inaccessible guarded by his seconds.
"Max!" cried Clem, "Max!" The cry was hysterical. "Max
come over here . . . Max . . . Officer . . . get Schmeling
... I can't get him ... a badly beaten man . . . never
saw any other fighter look so badly."

Calm and conventional commentary would have lent dig-
nity to the broadcast, but not drama. Listeners by mere tonal
suggestion caught the pathos of the scene, and Clem re-
deemed himself for his previous omissions.

After nineteen years of fight broadcasting, Radio is still
seeking the ideal announcer who is able to sit at the ring-
side and give a lucid, lively and accurate picture of heavy-
weights in action for the championship.

Clem McCarthy's broadcast of the Louis-Baer contest was
notable for shrewd, wise summaries of the strategy as well
as a graphic, understandable account.

Graham McNamee earned for himself the title of "The
Irremovable Big Fight Announcer." Many think that Mc-
Namee is too picturesque and not technical enough to be at
the ringside. Others prefer spontaneity, color and a dramatic
voice to the calling of uppercuts, and the varieties of jab.
He admits he misses a lot of the details in his ringside
descriptions. He keeps up a running chatter and is fre-
quently behind the bell. Occasionally he gets tangled up in
telling who landed what and when and where.

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 369

"But I don't think that makes an awful lot of difference
to the great air audience," explains McNamee. "It's my
opinion that the audience often doesn't know or doesn't care
what a left hook or infighting is. The listener wants a
dramatic picture of the scene, he wants to follow the progress
of the fight. I try to get to him the information as fast as I
can and I get excited like anyone else while I'm doing it."

Charles Francis Coe is the master fight commentator who
reported with Ted Husing the Louis-Sharkey battle. Socker
Coe follows the mixed style in broadcasting. He explains his
way in a specific instance: "You see a fighter comes out of
his corner and jabs with his left a few times, each time a
little short. Instead of saying, 'Short with a left, short with
a left, short with a left,' you don't know whether he really
intended to land those or was just trying to make the other
man lead. You say so.

"Follow the offensive. Usually, from the man's position,
I can anticipate what he's going to do and keep right up
with the action when he does it. It sounds easy. Of course,
sometimes they don't do what you expect. You have to
develop a glibness to cover this."

Voice and Diction for the Fight Broadcaster

Listeners have become accustomed to the sparkle and
spontaneity in voice that mark the successful broadcasters.
One critic calls this the genius of making the listener feel
that something tremendously stirring was always just a
sentence away. When the sponsors of the Baer-Carnera fight
sought to replace Graham McNamee, they auditioned scores
of candidates for the post. None of them came through with
the same vigor and liveliness of McNamee. And McNamee
was retained in spite of the growing complaints regarding
his inaccuracy.

There is no one who in a few minutes can create and

37° RAPE OF RADIO

maintain suspense as skilfully as Clem McCarthy. With a
keen sense of the dramatic, he combines a sharp eyesight,
a fast and authoritative tongue and a voice tensely toned.

Fight broadcasting requires stress on significant words
without straining. Excess emphasis will convert the best
intentions into sheer noise. "Socker" Coe commands atten-
tion because he is gusty, hearty and emphatic. At times he
is crisp, but never monotonous.

Overemphatic delivery covering a period of a fifteen-
minute broadcast tends to become sing-songy. Clem Mc-
Carthy errs in this respect. A more distributed stress on
key words would relieve the regularity of the accent. Clem
is the son of an auctioneer and is deft of tongue by in-
heritance. His speech record is some two hundred and forty-
four words a minute, a pace which strikes the ear with
bewilderment.

It is easy to portray a fighter as putting up a better fight
than the actual results show. Socker Coe in his broadcast
of the Sharkey-Louis bout gave the impression that Sharkey
was putting up a better fight. Clem McCarthy made the
Farr-Louis fight about even. The truth is Farr never stood
a chance. Sam Taub, we believe, would not have erred in
this respect, because he has habitually shown a more accurate
judgment.

Resolutions of a Fight Broadcaster

Suppose you find yourself in a state of nerves while wait-
ing for the bell which will send the heavyweights into
action. Your mind is set on doing justice to the occasion
and your very anxiety makes you more tense. How shall you
acquire that balance which is necessary before you talk into
the microphone strapped from your shoulders? You might
indulge yourself in a brief monologue in some such resolves:

Resolve i. I will lose all worry about my bias of judg-

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 371

ment. I will step into my character as an impartial expert
and lose my character as a prejudiced individual.

Resolve 2. My own mind cannot bribe me to distort the
facts. I must report to my listeners those things that they
would see with their own eyes under the glare of those white
lights were they transported to the scene. "The toughest
part of broadcasting," says Sam Taub, "is the fact that you
are intimate with all the boys in the game. Tell your story
adhering to the facts and not permitting personal feelings
to enter the picture.

How easy a prescription this seems. You will have made
a terrible oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and noth-
ing but the truth. Suddenly you have a shaky feeling. Your
heart and sentiment yield. You see your favorite struck with
vicious blows, and you make no mention of them, nor report
them as light taps. Your man is weakening, yet you build
him up as possessed of endless strength. You lose your sense
of proportion, and before you know it you are overcome by
your own prejudices. You are no longer useful as a broad-
caster. The public finds you out when the first extras reach
the street.

Resolve 5. I will not make any positive predictions as to
the winner. Anything can happen as in that historic long-
count when Tunney arose from a state of stupor and gave
Dempsey a merry chase around the ring, finally to be hailed
the victor.

Resolve 4. I will call the blows as I see them, and I shall
do my best to see them as they happen with one respect to
certain taboos. The spilling of blood is tabooed under the
ruling of the New York State Boxing Commission which
decrees that listeners shall not be unduly roused by descrip-
tion of the carnal side of any bout. Hence, do not linger
on the picture of Braddock, blinded by his own blood in his
gory battle with Tony Galento, or commiserate Tony hacked
by Max Baer. Read about it in print if you will. The New

372 RAPE OF RADIO

York Times recorded James D. Dawson's description of
Galento's face as "red as a piece of raw beef."

Resolve 5. If in doubt I shall call the close rounds even.

How to Quicken Eye and Tongue

Few realize how strenuous is the business of broadcasting
a fight. Talk into the microphone, and you will realize the
extraordinary amount of mental concentration required. The
cycle of nerve impulses is swift and continuous. Messages
flash to the brain by way of the optic nerve. The speech
centers are excited. The nerve impulses are sent to the
organs creating articulate expression. In a blow-by-blow
description the broadcaster must perform the impossible
feat of synchronizing speech with what is going on. He soon
learns that even the shortest sentences fall behind the speed
of the punches. No other sport more completely demands
flexibility of tongue.

Sam Taub surprises you with his glibness. He even man-
ages to make extraneous comments when the two fighters are
making onslaughts on each other with lightning rapidity.
Consider that a trained newspaperman finds it possible to
dictate three or four hundred words to a round, if he has a
fast, experienced and cool telegraph operator at his side.
The commentator talking into the microphone can go far
beyond this number of words — say six hundred. He calls the
blows out as he sees them, and he must see accurately.

Two men are trying to do one another as much injury
as possible within an allotted space of time, and the broad-
caster's task is to report how the punishment is meted out.
Many a specific problem must be solved instantly with a
glance of the eye. Camera is down! You must get that over
with first. Which hand of Baer struck? Left or right? Hook
or cross? This is not the time for reflection. The experi-
enced commentator watches the stricken fighter. Is he out

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 373

like a light, or is he taking a comfortable rest up to the
count of nine? Watch him as he leans on his elbows, strug-
gling to get to his feet. Will he collapse? Pick up the count.
Watch Baer, see what he is doing, whether he has retired
to the neutral corner. Keep your eye on the referee as
Camera attempts to rise. Will the referee stop the fight?

The 'Tween-Rounds Announcer

In practice it is the duty of the 'tween-rounds announcer
to shrewdly summarize the action of the preceding round.
Such commentary must be crowded into less than two
minutes. This calls for a swift survey of the scene, quick
judgment, making rapid notes, and perfect timing. It is
often the duty of the secondary announcer to squeeze in the
"commercials" as deftly as possible.

Bill Stern has the sponsor's tough job of making Adam's
Hat fit the heads of as many listeners as possible. The com-
mercials are often left to commercial announcers like Ben
Grauer who, as in the Louis-Galento bout, can frequently
inject the keen edges of the Schick Injector Razors.

Everything must be co-ordinated so that the sponsor will
not be blotted out of the picture. In a few short sentences,
the action of the round must be summarized. Ten seconds
before the next round, the buzz at the ringside will remind
him that he must release the microphone to his blow-by-
blow partner.

It is an art to call the blows expertly and at the same
time add word pictures. The commentator has little time
for extraneous descriptions. The between-rounds announcer
may slip in things left unsaid by the commentator, and
round out the picture with some deft word touches.

During the Louis-Schmeling bout of June, 1938, Ed
Thorgersen, the secondary announcer, lost his opportunity.
Instead of mentioning the throwing of the towel into the

374 RAPE OF RADIO

ring, which Clem had failed to note, Ed, who was inexpe-
rienced, went off into generalizations: " Louis has culminated
one glorious victory. You have a feeling that he believes
himself the undisputed champion. The beating he handed
Schmeling tonight dispelled any doubt as to who was the
best fighter. Everybody has been taken by surprise and
bewilderment. Here's Clem."

This inter-rounds job requires quick colloquial speech.
The 'tween-rounds announcer, like his partner, should be
a master of ad libbing. Bill Stern who works sometimes with
Sam Taub, is not fast. The broadcast follows a definite rou-
tine. The best rounds announcer becomes the color an-
nouncer, describes the setting, calls attention to the pre-
liminary bouts, delves into the history, garb, and weights
of the fighters, brings celebrities to the microphone, and
permits the name of the time keeper, knockdown counter,
and referee to seep through the loud speaker.

Bill Stern provides himself with large pieces of heavy
cardboard on which is pasted the miscellaneous information
he has tested for reading within the period of fifty-five
seconds. When a round has become full and uneventful, Bill
can take refuge in his notes as Sam Taub calls: "End of
Round Two . . . Take it, Bill."

William C. Hill, who was Clem McCarthy's announcing
partner, was guilty at one time of reading a prepared-in-
advance script on the primal killing instincts of man. This
shows a weakness. The sponsor may decide on a cordon of
announcers. Thus for the Louis-Galento fight, Gabriel
Heatter provided color and between-round commentary,
Bell Stern, the blow-by-blow account, and Ben Grauer went
off on a roving assignment around the ringside after the
fight.

Broadcasts are more effective when there is a difference
in quality of voice between the blow-by-blow announcer
and the 'tween-rounds commentator. When working with

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 375

Clem McCarthy during the Louis-Schmeling fight of June,
1938, the higher-pitched voice of Ed Thorgersen was in
marked contrast to the hoarse, tense, dramatic tones of
McCarthy. Other characteristics of speech help in establish-
ing the identity of the two commentators. The clean-cut
and precise diction of Brooks Temple offered a distinguish-
ing mark to the less elegant and less precise diction of Sam
Taub.

Styles in Fight Broadcasting

Broadcasters themselves are in conflict as to the best styles
for fight broadcasting. The camps are divided into the blow-
by-blow stylists and the newspaper commentary stylists. The
conventional method of blow-by-blow description has its
difficulties. It is no small miracle to get in a word about
every blow. Such detail makes the rights and lefts to the
head sound alike and the listener is left wondering whether
some of them were not harder than the others.

The experienced broadcaster can group a series of punches
into a single phrase. He spends more words on punches that
have an immediate effect or that might have a later effect.

Fight enthusiasts who listen in at home complain that
radio announcers at the ringside try to say too much. They
strive to tell about every incident, great or small. As a
result of the lack of selectivity, words become tangled, for
example, "Max hit Max"; or one announcer reports Max's
left eye closed, while another claims it is the right optic that
is battered and useless. These frequent slips in big broad-
casts are due to incoordination between the eye and the
mind. Only experience can correct this failing. Among the
pioneer broadcasters who have specialized in boxing, Sam
Taub remains unsurpassed in straightforward, crisp and
detailed description of several fights a week in the smaller
metropolitan fight clubs.

The broad descriptive method in fight broadcasting pays

RAPE OF RADIO

less attention to details. It permits pauses in which to point
out strategy and fighting style. Instead of a continuous re-
port on blows, the listener gets a quick flash of meaning
and purpose behind these dynamics of action.

The incisive tone is best for marshalling facts into rapid
summary. Shorter sentences allow for stertorous effects that
are gripping. The voice can be made to give the shading in
volume that anticipates the climax of the big blow. Words
are not enough. It is the tone in which ideas are conveyed.
An "Oh, Boy!" carries more weight than fancy descriptions
of a flock of punches that hit nothing. The use of the
present tense makes for vividness.

Sam Taub is a native of the East Side of New York like
ex-Governor Al Smith of rad-dio fame. As a reporter of
outstanding boxing events for the Morning Telegraph over
a period of twenty years, he acquired an ease of penchant
for description. Covering a span of fifteen years he has
described in the air some seven thousand ring contests which
include championships in every class. On small stations he
often remained at the microphone for twenty rounds at a
stretch with no relief of a between-rounds announcer. Sam
is spoken of by Alton Cook as working himself into a lather
of excitement hunched at his microphone with his hat on.
He never takes his hat off during broadcasts. "It helps me
sweat," he explains.

Fight broadcasters should be at home with the vernacular
of the ring. Sam Taub, who for many years broadcast locally,
in 1937 was assigned to the networks. He is a past master
of fight "lingo." There is something vivid and picturesque
in his terse descriptions. It is said, however, that Sam did
not get his chance on the networks earlier because the fight
fans prefer a more cultured tone. An intonation pattern
that is too racial seems to call attention to the tone and
other phonetic variations rather than the thought. But Sam
Taub suffers from want of crispness and sharp enunciation.

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 377

On March 28, 1938, during the broadcast of the Ursell-
Polika fight at a local club, some characteristic inaccuracies
were recorded coming over the air in this fashion:

"Center of the ring" becomes "Cenner of the ring"; "left
to the body" becomes "lef to the body"; "coming back with
a short uppercut" becomes "comin back wid a short upper-
cut"; "just moves in there" becomes "jus moves in dere" ;
"clinch" sounds like "kglintch."

Whatever Sam lacks in precise speech, he atones for in
his images. He strikes home with the suggestive phrase, the
picturesque image, the trope which is immediately under-
stood. For instance: "He works like a smooth and well-oiled
machine ... he must have a pretty concrete jaw to stand
those blows ... he is dodging a flurry of blows . . . Polika
is a pretty good sharpshooter connecting with his target
. . . Polika is praying for a knockout."

Blunders in Fight land

Radio chronicles abound in blunders in fight broadcast-
•ing. Sports announcers who make the greatest percentage
of boners naturally broadcast without a script amid scenes
of great excitement. The blood goes to the head. Judgment
becomes ill-timed. Time and space become merely relative.
The scene becomes merged into a composite picture of
human flesh coalescing. Visualize such a situation as recently
described over the air by a fight commentator: "The boys
are in a corner slugging away at each other in the middle
of the ring."

In the Dempsey-Firpo fight of September 14, 1923, the
announcer, carried away by the excitement of the fighters
knocking each other down alternately, broke into a chant,
"He's down, he's up, he's down . . ." That announcer was
Major Andrew White.

Graham McNamee, once the dean of all sports announcers,

378 RAPE OF RADIO

is used to taking it on the chin from the critics. In broad-
casting the Baer-Carnera fight he inadvertently reported
Baer as delivering a crushing uppercut to his own jaw. And
a little later in the match he had Camera swinging at
himself in a similarly destructive way. It was a short battle
McNamee had to report — a brief two rounds — which, until
the Louis-Schmeling debacle of June, 1938, was regarded as
the most dramatic fight in fistic history.

The broadcaster who lacks originality or is troubled about
strengthening his verbal pictures should provide himself
with a sheaf of appropriate images. It is often difficult to
spring the right phrase on the spur of the moment, especially
under the hectic conditions of the ring. Even the most
hackneyed comparison is better than none. There are about
two hundred sports writers in the press section during a
championship bout and their reports lend comparative
study. Subscribe to a clipping bureau and revel in the sports
lingo and picturesque phrases unleashed by master column-
ists like Joe Williams and Grantland Rice. Study them in
advance for immediate use. Try these dozen culled from
the daily press: "The blow was not a feeler, — it was a cannon
shot." "He goes haywire with his blows." "He found a flaw
in his defensive armor." "He is springing on him with the
instinct of the jungle." "Louis is continuing his blasting
operations." "Max dropped like an anchor." "Blows with
appalling lethal power." "He unleashed his double-barrelled
barrage." "It is a one-sided slugging festival." "One great
arm shot out like a piston rod." "It must have been like
hailstones hitting him." "He was spread out like a carpet
bag."

Critical Blows of the Listeners

The man who reports the blow-by-blow account of a
fight must be prepared to meet the critical blows of his
audience at home. As the bell clangs at the end of the last

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 379

round, comes the interview with the fighters. The announcer
clambers toward the ropes carrying his microphone into the
ring. The experienced broadcaster has learned to be wary
of those whom he calls before the microphone. Joe Jacobs,
manager of the German challenger, abused this privilege
when, in lieu of Schmeling, he shouted into the microphone,
"We wuz robbed!"

Radio fans have learned to expect a panting post-fight
statement from the winning battler. The announcer's task
is to get into the ring before the winner is hurried to the
dressing room. He has often to fight his way through a
mass of police, photographers, pressmen and handlers and
drag the mike to the fighter's corner, and at the same time
keep up a running stream of comment so that the mike will
not go "dead." Sometimes the invited one suddenly becomes
dumb and the announcer must be prepared to cover for him.

Networks and sponsors sought good men for such an
important battle as the Louis-Schmeling bout held at the
Yankee Stadium on June 22, 1938. The choice fell on Clem
McCarthy, specialist in blow-by-blow; and Ed Thorgersen,
whose announcing was to provide the "color" and between-
rounds commentary. Clem was the veteran; Ed had never
before participated in a fight broadcast.

Louis measured his man. Seven seconds elapsed before a
blow was struck. The onslaught was swift and within two
and a half minutes Louis battered Schmeling into uncon-
sciousness with a relentless fusillade of lefts and rights.

One should first consider the factual report of the battle
as presented by James P. Dawson in the New York Times:

"Three times under the impact of Louis' right hand the
German hit the floor. The first time Schmeling regained his
feet at the count of three, laboriously. The second time
Schmeling was knocked down, he got up dazed and game,
bounced up instinctively before the count had gone beyond
one. On the third knockdown, Max Mahon, Schmeling's

380 RAPE OF RADIO

backer, hurled a towel into the ring — European fashion —
admitting defeat for his man. The towel went sailing through
the air when the count on the prostrate Max reached three."

Referee Arthur Donovan, before he had a chance to pick
up the count in unison with knockdown timekeeper Eddie
Josephs, who was outside the ring, gathered the white em-
blem in a ball and hurled it through the ropes. Returning
to Schmeling's crumpled figure, Donovan took one look and
signalled the end of the battle. The count at that time was
five on the third knockdown. All this took place in two
minutes and four seconds. Surely the sudden climax would
test the most experienced broadcaster.

The commentator must be prepared for any contingency.
Here was a situation unique in the history of championship
battles. Clem failed, to a degree, as the reporter, that was
all. He seemed in his manner to be as much stunned and
surprised as were the eighty thousand patrons whose roars
were let out into the night air at the Yankee Stadium. It
is an admirable thing to convey the excitement of the battle
by breathy and excited tone, but this emotional touch must
be matched with reportorial sense. On this occasion Clem
missed.

His tongue, it is true, moved glibly. The screaming of the
crowd was all the more reason for his eyes to be sharper.
But throughout the pandemonium he was missing some of
the vital drama. Clem failed to mention the towel of sur-
render that had been thrown from Schmeling's corner. He
failed to mention that Schmeling's trainer, Machon, climbed
into the ring when the third knockdown punch landed and
that Donovan pushed Machon back as the knockdown timer
counted ". . . eight." Had Clem continued for a minute
he might have completed the picture, but he called for his
"color" announcer with a tone of relief, "Come in here and
describe the scene, Ed."

Some critics complained that Clem could not keep pace

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 38 1

with the blows which Louis shot to the head, jaw and body
of Schmeling. This is too exacting a demand. Twenty-nine
vital blows were delivered by Louis with lightning rapidity.
The German's feeble effort at retaliation was easy to report.
The ex-champion got in exactly two right hand punches:
one of them timidly short; the other blocked by Louis. The
over-critical fan should try to report each blow for himself.

The tale of the battle was told coherently enough: "Louis
stabbed Max with a left jab . . . Louis then cracked him
high at the temple ... a left to the head; a right . . .
Schmeling is down. The count is three . . . and he's up.
And it's a left to the jaw . . . Donovan is watching . . .
Schmeling is down, down . . . the count is ... seven . . .
eight . . . Max Schemling . . . Schmeling is beaten in one
round!"

Paul Gallico, in his classic on sports, "Farewell to Sports,"
calls attention to the fight decisions that were so bad around
New York for a time that a current gag was to imitate a
fight broadcaster who announces in a crazily inconsistent
way:

"Ooooh, White is down again . . .He is up and stagger-
ing around the ring ... he is bleeding. Oh, there goes
White down again ... he gets up again but is helpless
and Black batters him all over the ring. White is helpless
... he is bleeding from cuts over both eyes and the nose.
He goes down again ... he won't get up again ... he
won't get up this time . . . White is out ... no ... the
bell ending the final round saved him. The bell rang at the
count of six. Poor White never stirred . . . Well, folks,
here comes the official decision. Flash! White wins!"

Football

Football entered into the field of high finance when
broadcasting took it under its wing. Many a college which

382 RAPE OF RADIO

found itself on the rocks during depression days turned to
broadcasting like a foster-mother. The college had but to
invest in a strong team. Radio could be relied on to spread
its prestige far and wide. Many a son of Alma Mater was
induced to make heavy donations to the endowment fund
because through radio he followed the crowning successes
of the football team. Funds poured into defunct college
treasuries, new stadia dotted the land, and enrollment lists
swelled. Today a meeting between topnotchers and unbeaten
rivals will pack any stadium and monopolize the radio dial.

From some curious sense of idealism, universities hesitate
to offer their games for sponsorship. The first of the big
games to be broadcast was the Princeton-Chicago meet of
1932. It was not until 1937 that Yale University decided to
sell its six home football games to a sponsor for the modest
sum of twenty thousand dollars. From that time on,
major college football teams went definitely "commercial."
Colleges at last openly accepted the declaration of the
Rockne- Anderson period of coaching at Notre Dame: "Give
any college a good football team and three or four Saturdays
a year of national broadcast games, and that college can
declare dividends."

It's a reminder of what a giant business football is in the
United States. Some figures: American college football's
total take in a bad year has never, in recent times, gone
below forty million dollars. In 1936 the figure was over
seventy-five million dollars. The major professional league
games bring out over a million and a half spectators in
nine cities. Attendance at three hundred and eighty-seven
games at seventy-five representative colleges in 1937 totaled
seven million seven hundred and fifty thousand. Fourteen
colleges in 1937 built football stadiums that seat more than
fifty thousand spectators each, four of them, eighty thousand
and more. There is a potential weekly gate of one hundred

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 383

thousand dollars to three hundred thousand dollars for each
big game.

Collegiate football has definitely gone commercial. Heard
over seventy-five stations and voiced by over fifty-two play-
by-play and commercial announcers and in addition to
twenty-five spotters or observers, the Autumn plans of one
sponsor include the complete home line-up of twenty-seven
colleges located on the Eastern Seaboard from Massachusetts
to Florida as far west as Columbus, Ohio.

Princeton and Harvard are the standouts, and tradition-
ally refuse to sell radio rights in order to aid their own
budgets.

Consider the extent of football broadcasting today. Strong
teams with national ranking command national attention.
Traditional rivals like Yale and Harvard and Army and
Navy are always certain to command the airways. The foot-
ball game crowds drama and entertainment into one, and
affords distraction to millions of listeners.

Nearly two thousand games are annually played on the
gridirons of America; over sixteen million spectators lend
their voices to cheer the players of over six hundred colleges.
Each Saturday in the East alone fifteen or twenty games are
on the air.

Network broadcasting of football games is rapidly on the
wane. The day of the Ted Husings and Graham McNamees
as football announcers is nearly at end, according to Ted
Husing himself. "We're the last of our clan," he prophesies.
Local stations are taking over the broadcasts in their own
territories and instead of one or two key voices among the
big games of 1937 nearly a hundred breathless commentators
were heard.

Football represents a certain savagery of play. America
lends an ear because the game stimulates the primitive sense
of combativeness. The football stadium is the replica of a
battle arena. There in the circumscribed space marked off

384 RAPE OF RADIO

by yards, eleven men in armor, with hard leather helmets,
heavy cleated boots and shock protectors, face eleven other
men similarly equipped. Men are deployed. They go into
huddles. They charge at each other at full speed with
strategy and complicated running. The game calls for exact-
ing physical courage, and expressiveness. Above all, it
demands a certain type of intelligence.

Modern football games remain the most difficult of all
sports to broadcast accurately. The work tests the co-ordina-
tion of the trained observer. Many are called to try out for
this work but few are chosen. The audition is a tell-tale
which sharply exposes the lack of talent. During 1936, NBC
went on a vain search for a new crop of material. The net-
work assigned various applicants to describe the home games
of the Fordham and NYU teams on recording machines.
The records were played back later in the studies, but not
one of the candidates tried out qualified for an announcer's
post at a broadcast game.

Football broadcasting, like the game itself, exacts much
of the physical self. The game itself covers only sixty
minutes, but the announcer, if working alone, is often
obliged to talk for three and a half hours, almost without
interruption, at the rate of two hundred words a minute.
No wonder Ford Bond complained that after a football
session at the microphone, his face muscles were so tired
from talking that they ached for twenty-four hours.

Each commentator in football has developed his own
peculiar style and system. The objective is the same: to
convey the drama of the game, to stir the imagination and
to make the listener yell when the crowd in the stadium yells.
One critic declares that such is the thrill of the game for
actual spectators that football is the one great reason for
television to hurry up so that fans may participate with
their eyes.

A fan once complained: "You ought to be ashamed: I

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 385

caught the sound of joy in your voice when the touchdown
was scored." The announcer need not put a damper on his
enthusiasm. When the crowd is thrilled by a brilliant play,
stimulate the listener in even greater measure.

Ted Husing is a tried and true man in football broadcast-
ing. Occasionally he mixes up the teams, and keeps skipping
from figure to figure as to which down it is, and how many
yards to go. But he manages to convey a vivid picture so that
the listener understands what is going on. There is some-
thing of a complete formula in his own analysis of his
method:

'Td really like to tell you what we have found the public
wants, and how it ought to be done. But each man has a
trick for intriguing listeners, and I hope I have mine. One
thing I know is that football needs a recreation of each
scene — and a lot of fast chatter to tell about it. Each play
presents these things — where is the ball resting, how far
out from the side of the field, who has possession of it, what
down is it, who got it, how did he get it, what did he do
with it in trying to mask it, was it a fake, a spin, a reverse,
a buck, a crash, a shove, or what, where did it finally go,
who led the interference, why was he hit, who hit him,
who stopped the play, where did it stop, was it a good play,
and then do it all over again, analyze the importance of the
play, and then sit back and telephone Berlin for a chat with
Hitler,— bah!"

The conscientious football broadcaster devotes consider-
able preparation to the work, visiting camps far in advance
of the event in order to absorb the atmosphere. He reads,
crams, absorbs. Then there are interviews with the coaches
and captains of the rival teams. About two hours before the
game, the commentator goes over the situation with his
"observers." Such research is of the highest importance. It
gives that confidence without which a commentator seems
lost for words and ideas. He dips into the store of his in-

386 RAPE OF RADIO

formation when the occasion arises. Instead of gaps, pauses,
repetitions, the speaker commands every situation. The
voice then takes on the tone of easy authority, which com-
mands the listener.

The "color announcer" must have enough fill-up material
to keep talking entertainingly. Consider: i. the weather;
2. the wealth; 3. the bands; 4. line-up; 5. coaches; 6. umpires;
7. field judges; 8. celebrities present.

Football broadcasting is too much of a task for any one
man. It is almost an impossible task to build up each play
to the split second. Most of the announcers call on the aid
of at least three assistants in addition to the control engineer.
The first assistant keeps a record of all plays for reference
and review. The other two are extra "observers," each of
whom is generally a detached member from the opposing
teams. These are the extra "spotters" who are swift to catch
the plays and who can instantly identify the members of
their own teams.

The engineer sits alongside the announcer and by manipu-
lating the knobs of the control equipment, keeps the picture
realistic. The "color" story is left to a special events an-
nouncer. His task is to select those values in the scene that
convey mass action in every mood. And here is where humor
must be alive.

Sound effects come to the rescue of many a humdrum
recital of the announcer. The listener who has lost contact
through dreary talk, suddenly is stirred by the cheer of the
crowds, the rollicking songs of Alma Mater, and the march-
ing melody of the bands. The networks generally have four
pick-up mikes which are placed in front of the rival cheer-
ing sections. The mikes are numbered and by a previously
arranged signal system, the operator stands ready to switch
the mikes on or off. No. 3 microphone may be in front of
the Yale section. An injured man is being assisted from the
field, — the Yale cheering section has risen as one man and is

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 387

giving him a tremendous hand. The announcer holds up
three fingers and the operator switches on mike 3. The
engineer's task is to see that the "color" comes through loud
enough to be distinct, but not loud enough to drown out
the commentator's voice.

Through all the turmoil of the game the broadcaster and
his assistants, as a rule, present a co-ordinated picture of
what goes on before them. Their inaccuracies are unim-
portant and must be overlooked. Paul Gallico, the veteran
sports writer, pays tribute to the football announcer as the
chief reliance of the average newspaper reporter present at
the game. He says authoritatively:

"Except for descriptive passages that come through view-
ing the scene on the field, the manner in which scoring plays
are executed, the football reporter may just as well sit down
at home by his radio and prepare his report. It would greatly
shock his managing editor and his public if it became
widely known, but to all intents and purposes, he does it
anyway, except that his radio happens to be located high
on the rim of some concrete bowl or horseshoe, in a glass-
enclosed pressbox if the game is in the Middle or Far West,
or exposed to the elements if it is in the East."

A commercial announcer handles the "plugs" spotted in
non-play periods to reach the ear pleasantly. Blurbing that
is repetitious and unrestrained is likely to fall on deaf ears.
The commercials should never be thrust on the air during
action on the field.

Announcers never mention the no-hitter unless the hitless
stretch is over, or until the game is over. The superstition
holds that such mention prematurely will break the jinx.

Shall It Be "Pigskin Lingo"?

Less than ten per cent of radio listeners have any definite
knowledge of the game. The uninitiated merely catch the

388 RAPE OF RADIO

drama of two forces pitted one against the other, in the
struggle over a pigskin ball. The average dialer is not sitting
before his radio pouring over a book on football rules.

The problem in broadcasting is to determine how the
game shall best be conveyed to the listener. Shall it be a
series of technical explanations meant only for the initiate?
Or shall the language and style of broadcasting be framed in
simple terms that are easily understood by the average
listener? There are those who are not partial to either
method as long as there is variety and dramatic flavor to
the description.

Nationally famous coaches like Chick Meehan have been
instrumental in developing a jargon which is foreign to the
average person. There are hardly any synonyms or simple
terms for football technicalities. Such terms as "fake,"
"lateral," "reverse," "spinner" are not wrapped in mystery
by the expert. The average listener wants his game presented
in understandable language. He has job enough getting
entertainment from his radio. The announcer who wishes
to command a large following avoids a terminology that
confuses.

Dramatic situations are conveyed by picturesque words
and images. This gift for the use of the right word spells
the success of many an announcer. Instead of saying, "Doakes
is tackled by Smith," a more definite picture is presented
by "Doakes is spilled by Smith." The game abounds in a
specialized vocabulary which should be on the tip of the
tongue.

Two schools of broadcasting now flourish. One thrives in
the Midwest, the other in the East, and each has its peculiar
wrinkles. No one has yet ventured to explain how these re-
gional variations crept into practice. The majority of Mid-
western announcers are more precise. They wait until the
play is complete before describing it. The Eastern an-

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 389

noimcers are keyed up to speed. The announcer is right on
top of the ball. He may thus be fooled by a trick ball. In
such a case he must frankly contradict himself.

The eastern technique is preferred, because background
noises are appropriately blended and timed to the "talk."
Parabolic microphones like huge searchlights pick up the
roar of the crowd while the announcer tells what is going
on. Under the midwestern plan there is danger that the
listener wonders what is going on while he hears the roar of
the crowd.

Football Credo

The ideal sports broadcaster has command of himself
and of the scene at all times. There are some special con-
siderations which apply to football which we here set down:

1. Indicate the line-up with brief thumbnail sketches of
the players, allowing for sufficient time for a balanced treat-
ment of both sides.

2. Endeavor to put the play on the air while it is hap-
pening. A delayed description is apt to confuse the listening
audience. The meaning of the yell on any climactic turn is
totally lost if it comes while the previous play is being
described.

3. Concentrate on what you are saying, not the manner
of saying it. An honest participation in the game will pro-
vide words that have the appropriate zest and emotional
touch. Most commentators grow nervous and repetitious.
They suffer from the strain of keeping fresh.

4. Establish a fixed point of view. Ford Bond advises
that if you are placed on the south side of the field, give
the listeners a layout of the field with the east goal and the
west goal. This fixity keeps you from being confused and it
makes it easier for the listeners to follow the action play,
and to make a chart of the field if they desire.

5. If you go "technical" you must be absolutely accurate

3QO RAPE OF RADIO

every second. An analysis of defensive plays will lead you
into the purely technical side of the game.

6. The commentator must maintain an attitude of impar-
tiality. He is the eye of the radio audience which represents
a divided allegiance. Be polite to both sides — no irony, no
name-calling.

A listener to the broadcast of the Harvard-Princeton game
objected to the announcer's repeated reference to "the
Bengals" and "the cats" to describe the Princeton players
on the ground that it made it difficult for one unfamiliar
with such vague identification to follow the play.

7. Suspense requires that the audience be intermittently
reminded which team is ahead and by what margin.

8. The trend is toward the technical report on plays.
There are hardly any synonymous or simple terms for the
football language like spinner, reverse through the line,
lateral, and fake. But the judicious use of broad description
will help to relieve the mass of technical phrasing so be-
fuddling to those not versed in the lore.

9. There are three types of blundering gridiron broad-
casters. The first is the admittedly inexpert commentator
who knows little or nothing about the game. The second is
the "know-it-all" type who presents an inaccurate picture
in the attempt to give the intimate details of every play
and to pronounce criticism of players and officials. The
third, and more common type is the "exaggerator." He pre-
sents every scrimmage sensationally. The audience is led
to believe that each game is a succession of thrills. He
does not discriminate. Every dull play becomes vital, and
climax is built up where there is none. One critic suggests
that their manner is dictated by the fear that they or their
stations might lose their audience for the afternoon, or
for ensuing programs if an uninteresting game were pgr-
trayed as it was played.

The exaggerated style of announcing is called the "high

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 39 1

style of gabbing." Variety criticized Tom Hanlon in a west-
ern match: "It's all the same to him whether they're digging
in under the goal posts or falling asleep in midfield."

Headaches and Heartaches

A conscientious broadcaster will visit the training camp
and meet the players personally. Ten minutes of confidential
talk with the coach will give the broadcaster plentiful dope.
On the day of the game he will be at the scene of the game
a few hours before the kick-off. In a final conference with
the coaches of each side he will be advised as to any new
formation and trick plays likely to be used. He will become
familiar with the nicknames of the players and know which
men especially to watch. It must be remembered from year
to year the basic system of each coach remains the same
except for a few names.

Some announcers are prevented by the pressure of their
studio assignments to get out and study the teams first-
hand before the game. But they manage to read fully on the
subject, and on the morning of the game do a lot of
cramming.

Husing is in his sixteenth year as a football announcer.
His first football game was Penn-Cornell game of 1925. Ted
used to take a two-week swing around the major camps be-
fore each season. Now he has two scouts on the road gather-
ing the data and impressions. When the opening whistle
blows, Ted will have material on fifteen hundred different
players of the squads that will see action during the season.

Observers who know their men will be able to recognize a
player even if he is covered with muck and slime. At least
he will make a fairly accurate guess as to who it should be.
He will be guided by the shift in his position, the manner
in which he took the ball and by those peculiar quirks in
football practice that only the specialist can sense.

RAPE OF RADIO

The Notre Dame-Navy game of 1937 was played in a
blinding snowstorm. Bill Stern, the announcer, could hardly
see the other side of the field and all the yard lines were
covered up. The listeners are not interested in alibis. The
announcers must be frank and see their reasons for not doing
a good job.

Often just an ankle strap, an extra wide piece of adhesive,
a soiled helmet, the physique of the player, or a torn shirt
helps in the identification. Ted Husing has developed a
novel electric light annunciator. It is an electric device
which locates each of the twenty-two players on a dial
lighted up by a touch of the finger. The announcer watches
the offensive line and the defensive backfield. His assistant
looks through a powerful field glass mounted on a swivel.
The lens is always on the ball controlled by a mere twist
of the head. The moment the ball is put into play, the as-
sistant presses the appropriate button. The dial box then
lights up, and instantly furnishes the announcer with the
name. In effect, the assistant furnishes the names, while the
announcer is busy watching the plays.

Three hours is a severe trial upon the eyesight, the voice
and the brain co-ordination of any microphone speaker,
especially a sports announcer. The best announcers become
inaccurate as the hours pass. They even become subject to a
slight aphasia and give the wrong names to the teams. The
broadcasting booth, to make the work harder, is usually
located on the far rim of the arena.

Correct pronunciation of the players is important. A
sports announcer who mispronounced the name of Alex
Wojciechowicz, the Fordham All American center, got ten
thousand letters from irate fans.

The name of the player and action looms important in
broadcasting. General reports are not sufficient. It is not
enough to broadcast: "Alabama gains seven yards through
tackle . . . California ran the left end for five yards . . . Ala-

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 393

bama completed a fourteen yard pass . . ." The telephone
of the broadcasting station will be ringing with complaints.
The fan wants to know not only "whatswhat" but "who-
dunit."

Not every football game has its high dramatic lights. The
announcer's prayer is that things do not become too hum-
drum. Three long hours of monotonous calling of plays,
the repetitious chant of "they're again in a huddle," "they're
just coming out of a huddle," "now they're lining up," may
suddenly be broken by drama or comedy.

A last-minute touchdown of Notre Dame, a Fordham-
NYU brawl on the field, a riot of Princeton students on
the Yale bowl — these are historic instances. Routine chatter
suddenly swings into dramatic tonalities. The pace becomes
swift and the descriptive touch more vivid. Luck may be
kind to the announcer and provide him with plenty of ex-
citement and diversions. But he must be equal to the occa-
sion with diction and voice.

A Final LQ. Test for the Football Broadcaster

1. Do you know the game from A to Z?

2. Have you a system to adequately prepare yourself for
your broadcast?

3. Can you translate rapid action into words and talk
with "punch" for at least two hours?

4. Do you know every play by name and number?

5. Do you know the history of each player?

6. Are you provided with a fund of human interest stories
and football lore that can enchant the fan?

7. Do you use the huddles, the quarters and time taken
out to talk glibly and entertainingly?

8. Can you pronounce each name correctly?

9. Have you developed a system for the quick identifica-
tion of the players?

394 RAPE OF RADIO

10. Does your speech indicate you have a "one-track"
vocabulary, or is your diction varied?

1 1 . Have you reliable observers who can tell when the
coach has switched all the numbers of the players so that
nobody will know who is playing in a brilliant attempt to
confuse the opposition.

12. Are you improving on your graphic style by running
moving pictures of the game, while you make a running com-
mentary for later analysis. Run the film slowly at first and
gradually increase the tempo.

The Smack of the Bat Heard 'Round the World

Baseball is truly a national sport. Its stars are public
heroes. Now thanks to radio, the smack of the bat can be
heard 'round the world.

In the days when Matthewson pitched, the scores were
eagerly watched as they were chalked up on bulletin boards
at the half-inning intervals. Radio with its immediate re-
porting, made it possible for legions of listeners to follow
the national game, play by play, in the comfort of their own
homes. Baseball fought the intruder, Radio, with stubborn
resistance. It was feared that broadcasting would sound the
deathknell of the grandstand. Instead, radio repeated its
old miracle. Fans stormed the gates of the stadium. Gate re-
ceipts mounted. Interest in the game took on a revival and
expansion. All this, of course, refers to the World Series and
to the one all-star midseason game which is broadcast over
the networks. Games in the regular schedule have never
approached their wide audience. The World Series is con-
sidered the prize commercial program of the year. Henry
Ford was persuaded to sponsor the 1937 series at a cost of
twenty-five thousand dollars. The Gillete Razor took over
in 1938 and 1939.

The ban on broadcasting is entirely lifted. Owners of the

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 395

major league clubs were opposed for the most part to broad-
casting games at home, but did not object to a play-by-play
account when the teams are playing in other cities. Until
1938, the Yankees, the Giants and the Dodgers had an inter-
club agreement which strictly prohibited any microphone
in the ball parks except for the openings games and the
World Series.

Radio's Toughest Sports Job

The World Series went on the air for the first time in
1926. Here was a chance to prove to the skeptics what radio
could do in the ways of baseball reporting. The sports
writer selected for the job failed dismally. Listeners com-
plained that he mumbled and desecrated the English tongue.
It was Graham McNamee who was called to the rescue in
the second game of the Series. His precise and emphatic
speech at once established baseball on radio, and made him
famous as America's outstanding baseball commentator.

Why do baseball announcers complain that baseball is
difficult to broadcast? The game seems so easy to follow when
one sits in the grandstand. But the spectator fails to notice
the pauses in the game. These pauses are especially trying
for the broadcaster. The good announcer fills these spaces
with shrewd commentary, both factual and philosophical,
that keeps the action moving. He culls a wealth of observa-
tions from the scene.

Baseball is not always a fascinating game to watch, nor
does it always provide sensational moments for the stay-at-
home. It has its day of dull exhibition when players are
inert and the doldrums seem to settle over the ball park.
But once let the fates be kind, and a hurricane of human
energy and ingenuity will be set into action.

The baseball fan is erudite. He knows all the "dope."
Baseball fans "eat up statistics." The averages are com-

396 RAPE OF RADIO

puted to show the real power of the player at the plate.
Yesterday's baseball here and today's successor live in the
fan's experience. He knows the background of the players,
where they came from before they arrived on "big time."
He is familiar with the achievements of batter and pitcher.
He knows coach and umpire. Millions who do not go to the
game feed on the publicity in the newspapers.

The listener's familiarity with his baseball family makes
the announcer's task both more easy and more difficult.
More easy, because the listener needs only the merest sug-
gestion to visualize the action; more difficult, because the
announcer must be possessed of a dramatic sense that never
errs.

"Covering the series is radio's toughest sports job," says
Ted Husing, "because you're talking to the world's largest
expert audience. They'll call you on every error you make,
so you've got to be right and be right the first time."

Shall the Color Story Be Scripted?

Some degree of formalism has been put into the "color"
story before the game by announcers who read their scripts.
During the series of 1936, Gabriel Heatter and Boake Car-
ter were assigned by CBS to talk about the crowd and
things in general before the game began. Both were supplied
with typewritten scripts.

The microphone has an uncanny way of revealing such
practice. Listeners are more readily affected by colloquial
speech than by the interlacing of colorful words which may
not be on the tip of the tongue in moments of excitement.
Many a listener suspects that the sidelights were written only
a few minutes prior to the broadcast. The true test for the
broadcaster lies in his spontaneity, his rapid-fire description.
It is a gift.

Gabriel Heatter justifies the use of prepared copy on sev-

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 397

eral grounds. "I have a lot of sidelights," he said, "about
the players and the game. Maybe I won't use more than a
line or two of it or maybe I'll use it for the whole fifteen
minutes before the game starts. We don't go on the air until
both teams have finished practicing, all the preliminaries
finished. All we have to watch are the ground keepers
smoothing out the infield. In case nothing happens, fifteen
minutes is a long time to fill and you're glad to have a script
to fall back on, whether you use it or not."

The easiest assignment for a color announcer is the open-
ing game of the World Series in Washington. Here the an-
nouncer can swing into a dramatic pace when the president
arrives on the field. The color announcer in the opening
game between the Washington Senators and the Philadelphia
Athletics in 1938 was paced too slow. On paper, the words
are descriptive enough:

"We are looking at the presidential box now. He will
come along in a moment. A host of camera men are standing
by. They have a man sitting in for the president. All the
photographers are getting their focus. A host of cameramen
are standing by. Looks as if things are going to happen
around here. Look at the bleachers out there. Umbrellas
are up. Hope the Senators come through in fine style here.
Depends on four or five pitchers. Then there are the Ath-
letics. Several new faces. Rookies. Means that Connie Mack
is trying out some new material. An aeroplane is hovering
overhead. The secret service men are moving closer. A sign
the president is coming. Here he comes. The car is moving
down the first base line. There he is now . . . entering his
box flanked by his military aides and his son, Jimmy. This
is his sixth game . . . there he stands now with his famous
smile . . . shedding the cares of State. Listen to that music . . .
the United States Army band is in parade formation . . .
marching ahead . . . followed by both teams ... in single
file ... for the flag raising. . . . The crowd roars as the presi-

398 RAPE OF RADIO

dent winds up for the benefit of the photographers . . . there
goes the ball ... it barely clears the heads of the battery
of newspapermen in front of the box. . . . Play balll"

"Baseball broadcasting," says Ted Husing, "is a 'soft' job
compared to football. Why? Because there is less strained
excitement and the voice is not so strained. Any play in
football can become a scoring play. Not so in baseball?"

A special play — and the aspect for the spectator changes;
he rejoices; he jeers; he becomes a howling critic. At such a
time the announcer finds escape from humdrum recital. His
task is to convey this new stir to the listener by properly
feeding the imagination.

The fans with unbridled hero worship expected Babe
Ruth to perform. During his Big League lifetime, the Babe
hit seven hundred and twenty-three home runs. He hit more
than fifty home runs a season four times. No player has
ever approached such a life time record.

The listener expects performance just as does the spec-
tator, but not every game can be heralded as a Babe Ruth
classic. Hence, be not too hard on the commentator who
must report a game that offers little in the way of tight
situations or skills that make the fans exult.

The pitcher winds up and lets go! "Strike!" you cry. You
call the play for every ball pitched. Suddenly there is a sharp
crack. The ball is hurled into the green and tan surface of
the infield. The ball batter speeds hell-bent for first base.
Your speech quickens as you report these movements. You
follow the runner down to the first base and keep your eye
on the ball. You are to report on the swift cooperation of
infielder and first baseman. The infielder has swooped down
on the ball and made a throw.

The capable broadcaster can make dramatic situations
tense for the listener. Consider the fan who sits at his dial.
He waits on the announcer's every word. The summarizing
will clinch the situation as it is at the moment. Two strikes

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 399

and three balls; bases full; second half of ninth inning;
score tied; partisans in the stands are letting out a long-drawn
out and derisive "Booooo!" The batter does a little thinking.
The pitcher staves a sizzler over the plate. Perhaps it is
another King of Swat whose lifted bat consigns that ball
beyond the flagpole in center field!

Baseball is endlessly intriguing, full of individual duels
and unexpected situations. Ordinarily the players and fans
pay little attention to the complete lack of hits until five
innings have passed. The game is full of surprises. The com-
mentator is forced on the alert. It is these dramatic changes
that saves football on the air from a dry-as-dust cataloguing
of balls and strikes.

Every play has a direct bearing on the outcome of the
game. A stolen base, a hit or an error; a double play; miracu-
lous throws to the home plate from the outfield or to a base
— movements performed with an amazing accuracy, swift-
ness, rhythm and timing — such is baseball!

Styles in Baseball Broadcasting

The baseball czar, Judge Keneshaw Mountain Landis once
reserved the right to select the men who do the announcing,
and even laid down rules as to their manner of delivery. He
insisted on a correct play-by-play account, untouched by
dramatics in voice nor colored by personal views.

Some commentators develop a personal style that fans en-
joy. Out of the wealth of his experience as a world Series
broadcaster, Graham McNamee offers his individual philos-
ophy of reporting: "I have developed the detailed style of
reporting. I try to pack my broadcast with as many facts and
incidents as possible to fill out the picture. If a pitcher stops
and dusts his glove at a crucial moment or digs his cleat
into the ground, that's drama and the fans ought to have it.

"The things in the series that have given me the biggest

400 RAPE OF RADIO

kicks are passing moments, the brilliant flashes, which are
often forgotten afterwards, a stolen base, a big batter fanned,
an incredible put out, a feat performed by a player with
all the odds against him. The unexpected and unpredictable
which is always happening in the Series."

The World Series of 1937 showed a tendency to calmer
reporting. Baseball announcers used to pulsate in a voice of
breathless excitement on every play. Announcers who rely
on sensationally strained voice pitches cannot reach first
base with their listeners. Such artificial dither grows mono-
tonous and provides no balance for the ears. Only when
genuine excitement sweeps the field, should the voice rise
to emotional intensities.

Many announcers suffer from over-enthusiasm in exag-
gerating plays. An infield pop is magnified into a home run.
Or an ordinary assist and put-out is voiced screamingly as
if it were an event by itself.

Another school of announcers dampen the brilliancy of
every play by dull reporting and monotonous intonation.

This is the era of the impartial announcer. The tendency
to be over indulgent to the home-town fan must be checked.
The first rule of sportsmanship is to give both sides an even
break in reporting.

With the exception of Tom Manning, who has been be-
fore the baseball microphone since 1923, NBC announcers
confine themselves to straight, factual accounts of the game.
There is always the danger that factual reporting may be-
come dull and colorless. Even straight reporting can be en-
hanced by a lively conversational tone. The commentator
should be very fast, on the top of every play. The calling of
plays calls for a certain crispness and dispatch. There is
such a thing as a monotonous drone making a game deader
than it is by calling the plays with hollow indifference.
Try saying "Str-i-ke Three!" as if it meant something.

While the fan resents the flagrant highbrow, it is expected

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 40 1

that the announcer use good diction. Ted Husing at times
becomes too erudite. Bill Slater has a more polished and
suave approach. It is all right for Connie Mack to refer to
his team as AthEletics, and no one would holler about the
extra syllable. The commentators who supply a liberal use
of "dese, doze and dems," are fast disappearing.

Two new announcers came on the scene in 1939. Experi-
enced on local stations both Red Barbour and Arch Mc-
Donald established themselves with fans on the networks in
the New York area.

Red Barbour was put under contract to General Mills
which spends close to one million dollars sponsoring minor
league broadcasts over ninety stations from Albany to San
Diego.

Barbour was born thirty-two years ago in Mississippi and
raised in Florida. His first broadcasts were for the Brooklyn
Dodgers (WOR). His speech is tinged with soft southern
cadences that at once catch the listener. He uses idioms pe-
culiar to himself. "The boys are tearing up the pea patch"
means "teamwork is tops." "F.O.B." implies "the bases are
loaded." Barbour's idiomatic salary is reputed to be twenty-
five thousand dollars per year.

Another newcomer to the New York area is thirty-seven-
year-old Arch McDonald from Arkansas who reported the
home games of the World Champion Yankees and the Giants
over WABC for Wheaties, Mobiloil, and Ivory Soap. Arch
was once a refrigerator salesman in Chattanooga, but seeing
the baseball games interfered with business. He attracted a
huge following as the "Ambassador of Sports," at Washing-
ton's WJSV. He avoids the hackneyed idiom of the average
announcer. With Arch, a pitcher is a pitcher and not a
twirler; a catcher catches, and he does not do the "receiving
chore." The lingo he uses is his own fresh from the dugout.
Announcing a double play for instance, Arch is likely to re-

4O2 RAPE OF RADIO

port laconically, "Two dead birds." His fans know an easy
play as a "can of corn," and a slow ball as "the set of dishes."
A pitcher easy for a particular batter to hit is that batter's
"cousin." A hard hitter "lays the wood to it," and base run-
ners are "ducks on the pond."

The 'Tween Innings Announcer

Baseball reporting on the air was once considered strictly
a one-man job. Today the commentator is joined by at least
one "newspaper story" announcer who gives general descrip-
tions before and after the game. The "observer" attached to
the announcer does not actually observe and report the play
as in football. His function is to keep track of statistical de-
tail— the number of times at the bat, putouts, assists, and the
like.

The arrangement of announcers varies. Two plans are in
use. Two announcers may cooperate in the manner of a fight
broadcast. The one may be called the "play-by-play" an-
nouncer, the other the "between-innings" announcer. The
"between innings" announcer summarizes the preceding in-
ning, makes observations missed by his partner and manages
to squeeze in the "commercials."

In the second plan, two announcers are assigned to the
baseball park. Both act as "play-by-play" commentators at
the end of the fifth or sixth inning, the first announcer re-
tires and gives way to the second. This relay arrangement
allows for new blood at a time when the first announcer may
begin to sag. A fresh voice has the tonic effect of reviving
the listener. The play-by-play announcing is continuous.

There is drama wrapped around that rawhide ball. The
announcer must follow its every movement. The fan is
self-trained in the process of visualization. All he needs is
a verbal lift. The listener needs those factual aids that en-
able him to picturize the speed of the ball, the peculiar

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 403

quality of its delivery, where it passes, and what happens to
it on the way to the catcher's mitt.

The merest details take on importance as the game pro-
gresses. The pitched ball that strikes the batter may change
the course of empire. A catch that is fumbled may spell woe.
A sprained ankle may prove calamitous. A left-handed
pitcher in the box, or a left-handed batter at the plate pre-
sents special problems. The stance at the plate is important.
Joe di Maggio had a flat footed stance; Red Sox Manager
Joe Cronin, a wide open stance.

The listener is on the alert for these details to complete
his judgment of events. The announcer therefore gives swift
summaries of the performance of each player as he steps
to the bat. In this way, the listener gets the sweep of the
game backwards and forwards.

As a rule, left handed batters have great success against
right-handed pitchers because the ball curves in toward
them. Conversely right handed batters have better success
against left handed pitchers.

Experienced announcers can usually tell what kind of
ball is coming by the way the ball leaves the hand of a
pitcher; whether it is going to be a curve or fast ball. But
do not anticipate the umpire. You might get fooled. An um-
pire is called upon to make from one hundred and seventy-
five to three hundred decisions a game — decisions that must
be spontaneous, accurate, firm.

The way to the baseball microphone is paved with the
best intentions. The only training school for baseball an-
nouncers is a microphone and the play on the diamond.
The fact a man is a writer on sports or an ardent fan may
give powerful assurance of success, but the test lies in actual
oral performance.

How can the aspiring baseball announcer get the practice?
The problem is not an easy one. From the standpoint of
continuity in reporting, it is simple enough to make quick

404 RAPE OF RADIO

notes of the action while it is going on. The next step would
be to speak before a recording machine and translate the
action into an authentic aural scene for the listener. Now
you have your words engraven on the disc. Play it over,
study your oral sense of baseball drama. Get some audience
reaction in your own parlor. Try it on your dog — anything
— to persuade your own sensibilities that you'd make a cap-
able broadcaster equal to the best of them. At the Polo
Grounds and the Yankee Stadium, the announcers sit in a
little booth partitioned off at one end of the press box.

The between-innings announcer adds those spicy little
items that are of themselves interesting and outstanding;
the sensational catches, the arguments, injuries, behavior and
reactions of the crowds and the teams. Time out and change
of pitchers represents invaluable minutes in which the an-
nouncers can catch up and always add a spicy paragraph
or two. Baseball runs on leisurely enough to give the
announcer time to take in all details of a play. Trivial
things loom important. Who picked the play? Why was an
outfielder shifted? Was the last curve slow or fast? The an-
nouncer must be on the alert.

World Series announcers are under severe tension. They
sit at their microphones with the air of grim earnestness and
none of the gaiety of a spectator at a ball game. They must
be keen to catch the plays accurately. A radio editor explains
this tension thus: "A fan can be wrong about what he sees
but not the announcer."

The King of Sports

Throughout the ages, racing has held the undisputed title
of king of sports. Once the populace surged into the arena to
see the chariots sweep around the course for the entertain-
ment of the Caesars. Now millions, far and wide, tune in for
the racing thrill that is denied them as actual spectators. A

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 405

vicarious thrill it is, but it is nonetheless this thrill which
commentators must convey. Horse racing, indeed, offers for
the listener a concentrated excitement greater than that de-
rived from any other sport. When men and women have
money invested on a horse, no artificial stimulus to their
imagination is required.

Statisticians agree that the public's loss at the sixty thous-
and handbooks exceeds one and a half billion dollars per
year, with an additional loss covered by a three hundred
million dollar loss at pari-mutuel tracks.

The very briefness of a horse race makes it ideal for radio
broadcasting. A baseball game lasts two hours, a boxing
match an hour, a football game two and a half hours; but a
horse race rarely takes more than two minutes in the actual
running. Including picturesque details of the setting, the
entire sequence of the race, course and finish can be en-
compassed within the space of fifteen minutes.

The racing commentator, during important races like the
Derby, is put on his mettle more than the commentator in
any other field of sports. This is because he is dealing with an
audience sophisticated in racing lore. Thousands have been
studying racing forms for months in anticipation of the race.
From expert newspaper reports, they know all about the
horses, the jockeys, the owners, the past performances, and
a host of minor details. One slip, and the announcer is im-
mediately raked over the coals by the fans. ''As accurate as
a camera" is the way Bryan Fields describes those eyes of
his which follow the horses. He has called the right horses
in every camera finish. And that is a severe test for an
announcer.

/ Hear Them Calling

A high degree of specialization is required in the broad-
casting of racing events. In 1928 Graham McNamee tried
his skill at several races for NBC. When the important Bel-

406 RAPE OF RADIO

mont Races came up, Graham was advised that he had better
get some expert help for the event. When he asked an execu-
tive on whom he could rely, he was told that Bryan Field,
who was standing by was "as good as any." Thus Field
was inducted as a commentator of horse racing.

Bryan Field already had acquired his knowledge of horses
as racing reporter for the New York Times. He had seen
more than eighteen thousand races and could write with
facility about every phase of the sport. He became master
of the difficult art of "calling" which is essential for the turf
writer.

"Calling" is placing the horses as they pass the various
distance poles in a race, making known the relative posi-
tion of the entrants one to the other. Without this gift for
"placing," no one can perform a successful job of broad-
casting.

"It is an instinctive combination of three items which
makes a true 'caller'," explained Field. "You must know the
silks, the mannerisms of each jockey, and the color, size and
mannerisms of each horse. You eventually get so that the
hunch of a jockey, the shape of a horse's head, its gait,
enable you to identify immediately horse and jockey. Even
if it comes up mud, as we say at the track, you still can call
'em, despite the fact that their silks may be one gray smear
of mud rather than any particular color."

Bryan Field has a rival in Clem McCarthy, who knows
his horses by their fetlocks. Clem's first big race on the Radio
was the Kentucky Derby in which he announced Blue Lark-
spur's victory. In 1931 he was sent to England to broadcast
the Grand National Steeplechase, but the British did not use
his talents.

While not as intensely dramatic as McCarthy, Field holds
the exciting pace in voice. The listener enjoys a human and
refreshing touch at times. There came a moment in the
Kentucky Derby when in trying to recall the position of the

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 407

seven horses, Field momentarily forgot the California entry,
Riskilus, in last place. He rattled off the six leaders and then
trying to recall Riskilus, he said, "In last place is ... is ...
what the hell is that other horse?"

The usually steady Clem McCarthy succumbed to the ex-
citement of the Seabiscuit-War Admiral race in 1938. For
the last half he just kept yelling excitedly, "They're neck
and neck," forgetting to mention where the horses were
until just before the finish line.

A classic event like the Santa Anita Sweepstakes or the
Kentucky Derby requires at least three announcers, for a
full, rounded commentary. The "opening announcer" gen-
erally has the task of weaving the commercials into his in-
troductory announcement. The "color" announcer seizes
upon any aspect of the scene which will give a vivid picture
to the listeners. The "technical" announcer calls the horses
and follows the dramatic movement of the race. All their
efforts are deftly co-ordinated to give a full picture of the
race — historical background of the race and the entries,
weather and conditions of the track, betting odds, entry list
or scratches, the order of post positions, interview with
jockeys, owners, celebrities, and the details that comprise
the dynamics of the event. To know how and when to inte-
grate all these elements is a flexible art.

The Kentucky Derby of 1937 displayed Clem McCarthy at
his best. He filled the requirements of dramatic suspense,
sharp eyesight, and a ready vocabulary spoken with appro-
priate gusto.

The "opening announcer" draws the curtain for the listen-
ers: "This is Lyon Van reporting to you at the top of the
booth at Louisville, Kentucky . . . today's broadcast comes
to you through the courtesy of Raleigh . . . Kool Cigarette
. . . the winner must have extra stamina to win that quarter
mile ... it takes extra stamina . . .just what Raleigh gives

408 RAPE OF RADIO

you . . . but right now here is Charlie Lyons who will tell
you what is going on below."

The bugle blares to the call of "Boots and Saddles." The
parade out of the paddock starts. Satin-coated horses
mounted by jockeys in multi-colored silks are moving ahead.
The band strikes up "My Old Kentucky Home," and south-
ern chivalry will be displaying itself at its best.

The "color" announcer surveys the scene for the listener:
"There are eighty thousand in the grand stands, thirty to
forty in the fields . . . the weather is perfect . . . this year
all is well . . . the sunshine's bright in Kentucky's home to-
night . . . the track is in excellent condition . . . but I'll leave
the technical description to Clem McCarthy . . . they're all
here . . . Jack Dempsey . . . Governor Landon . . . let's
get right down into the paddock and see what Clem will say."

And here is where listeners are stirred by the throaty stac-
cato of Clem McCarthy's "Thank you . . . thank you . . .
here we are on the grandstand . . . now you can hear the
bugle down there . . . they're calling them out . . ."

Things do not always turn out smoothly. Often there is
a delay at the post. High spirited thoroughbreds remain
fractious even under the most powerful coaxing of the jock-
eys. Minutes of anxiety pass — eight minutes in the 1937 Ken-
tucky Derby, which Clem broadcast. These minutes pulse
with excitement. The horses are nervous, the crowd in the
stands is nervous, and so should be the listeners. A skilled
broadcaster knows how to convey this impression by descrip-
tive touches and phrases that quicken the senses and mirror
the cavorting of the horses.

"Yes, they are behaving nobly . . . there they are . . . and
War Admiral is just coming up ... and there is Melodist
. . . and just now Sunset Trail 2d broke out . . . Merry
Maker is taking a can . . . and Sunset Trail is a little bit
fractious . . . Reaping Reward never looked better . . . he's
not a big fellow . . . but he's a beautiful brown . . . Military

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 409

has not yet taken his position . . . Pompoon is finally walk-
ing to his stall . . . War Admiral is turning around in his
stall ... as well behaved as War Admiral can be ... they'll
be away in just a second . . . and it looks like an instant . . .
War Admiral has just walked out of his stall . . . Bernard F.
is cutting up just a little bit . . . this War Admiral is moving
back through the gate . . . no, no, no ... still fractious . . .
War Admiral is delaying the start . . . walking in and out
of the barrier . . . Heel Fly is at it again ... I don't see why
those horses don't get killed . . . back into your stall . . . War
Admiral is rocking in and out ... ah, ah, Heel Fly is upset
... I wouldn't be surprised if Gray Gold wouldn't turn a
somersault . . . no, Heel Fly backed out again ... if the
horses don't get set they'll have a hard time . . . War Ad-
miral ... get steady . . . stand still . . . watch that Heel Fly
... I can't see starter Hamilton . . . he's hiding . . . now
Pompoon has taken to a little cutting up ... no change in
any of the artists . . . War Admiral is a favorite . . . then
Reaping Reward . . . THEY'RE OFF!"

A tense two minutes ensues. Clem must keep a verbal
pace with the horses neck to neck. "They are fighting on
the lead . . . the horses round the course . . . War Admiral
is setting the pace . . . Melodist is in fourth place . . . Heel
Fly is driving hard . . . Melodist is up there in fourth place
at the quarter mile . . . and Pompoon is slipping . . . Fairy
Hill is second by a length . . . and now War Admiral leads
. . . it's going to be a photographic finish ... an eyebrow
finish . . . it's very close . . . it's War Admiral ..."

The microphone is then turned over to the "color" an-
nouncer. This is a breathing spell to provide a moment to
get the official decision disclosed by the photographs as well
as the official time. The assistant announcer "colors" the
changing scenes at the paddock. His voice and manner by
way of contrast must be relatively calm, after the hectic
report of the race.

41O RAPE OF RADIO

Nice judgment is required as to the exact moment when
the microphone is to be handed over to the "color" an-
nouncer. All this is a matter of timing and evaluation of
the complete picture of the race to be presented.

At the Santa Anita races of 1937, Clem had as his color
announcer Ken Carpenter. Toward the end of the broad-
cast, Clem clinches his recital with a rapid summary. "But
let's get Ken Carpenter in here," Clem is saying. "How about
the rest of the picture?" The two commentators then enter
into racy dialogue. This is a device to relieve the monotony
of straight discourse. Significant details and highlights are
disclosed, and the order of the winners repeated. "The gross
was one hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars. The win-
ner took ninety thousand seven hundred dollars. It cost
each winner eleven thousand dollars," says Clem briskly as
he leaves the sign-off to Carpenter. "We've had a tremendous
day here at Santa Anita."

Microphone Control

In practice, the supervising engineer makes a preliminary
survey of the track. He selects the best available vantage
point for the commentator and his assistants. The com-
mentator must have a clear view of the track, and the broad-
casting apparatus is placed where least interference is en-
countered.

The next step is the placement of lines between track
and master control which includes one private talk line
and radio lines for airing the program. These lines are free
from all telephone communication and are run into the
broadcast booth. The master control in the studio is then
checked and the commentator awaits the signal to start.

The timing of such a broadcast is almost perfect. With a
wave of the hand, the control engineer directs the man at
the microphone to start his patter. The bugle may be calling

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 411

the horses to the post as the speaker begins his description
of the parade.

Veterans of race track broadcasting seldom experience any
mike fright. Bryan Field admits laboring under a tension
only when the horses are put into the respective stalls.
Horses at the post require the most concentrated watching.
It is this strain on the senses that makes racetrack reporting
a difficult art, no matter how trained the expert.

The broadcaster talks freely into a specially equipped
microphone which he wears on his chest. Both hands are free
to permit him to observe the progress of the race through
binoculars. Once the horses are off the commentator swings
into the second phase of his work. Calling the leaders in a
race is not sufficient. The place, the style and manner of
running, the duels for leadership in the home stretch — all
these are details of the picture which are filled in with mas-
terful verbal strokes.

Few experts are able to combine extensive knowledge
with an ability to talk fast, naturally and colorfully. Rhet-
orical devices are useful. Clem indulges in apostrophe, ad-
dressing the horses familiarly: "Steady there! War Admiral,
steady. Steady, old boy."

The commentator presents the pattern of the race to the
listener first as an artist close to the color, life and rhythm
of the streaming pack of animals; next he is the factual re-
porter conveying the swift progressive stages in the victory
of a horse.

Shall it Be British in Sports Broadcasting?

Styles in broadcasting find reflection in national tempera-
ment. In the field of sports, American and British broad-
casting stand out in the same strong contrast as does the
mode of speech and general characteristics of the people.

Unrestraint is unbecoming to the British sense of stability.

412 RAPE OF RADIO

What is regarded by Americans as stodgy and slow satisfies
the British tradition and poise. The British are altogether
upset by American Sports broadcasters who aim to pour a
volley of words into the microphone.

Americans are inclined to ridicule British sports broad-
casting as slow and stodgy. The British do not believe that
the rapid attack of words must go on whether anything is
happening or not. Most British sports announcers merely
instance in their recital that national characteristic of the
British microphone, "Reserve."

The booming vocal method of our American sports an-
nouncers which began with the advent of Graham McNamee,
to the British ear represents an emotional imbalance in
description. R. C. Lyle, who described the turf events of
the British Broadcasting Corporation, speaks in a leisurely
conversational and unimpassioned manner. In presenting a
word picture of the running of the English Derby from the
track at Epsom Downs, Mr. Lyle said, "There is nothing to
worry about at the moment." His description of the track
was typically British: "The course is about a mile and a half
although we are not concerned with such details over here.
I say 'about a mile/ It might be a hundred yards more or
less. I doubt if anyone has ever taken the trouble to measure
it or if anyone ever will."

Let us be fair to the British announcers. Very often Amer-
ican announcers get into a dither of excitement, and the
listener later discovers that much has happened. English
announcers by their very calmness, make the sports combat
a matter for judicial appraisal. It takes much longer for a
British announcer to make up his mind what has happened.
He fills in time with general impressionistic terms. He is
not chiefly concerned with a blow-by-blow treatment. His
literary graces never leave him, on the theory that broad
description presents a better picture to the listener. The
heavyweight fight between Max Baer of California and

RADIO ERA OF SPORTS 413

Tommy Fair, the Welshman, in May 1937, reached Ameri-
can listeners by short wave. The broadcast was a striking
example of the divergent method of American and British
sports announcing. For purposes of record, here are choice
passages heard by American listeners from Harringay Arena
in London:

"Baer comes into the ring but he doesn't shake hands
with himself." "They are just playing ping pong now."
And when Baer seemed angry: "Baer is rawther exercised
just now." "Now they're hugging each other in the center."
"Baer is flicking his nose and well he might." At the finish
came this morsel, "Farr is bleeding very nicely."

Or these: "Baer is standing up like a lighthouse. The
scene shifts and Baer is back in his corner. It would really
appear that Farr was out to strangle him. Baer is winking
at him in gentle reproof. He is a real comedian, this Baer.

"Baer is grinning, although it is difficult to tell what he
is grinning about, as Farr definitely has the edge. The Amer-
ican seems to be doing most of the leading with his nose.
Farr's keen as mustard, full of initiative and courage. Baer's
eye is closing, his face is bleeding . . . There were four
beautiful punches by Farr, flicker, flicker, flicker . . . Baer's
got his back to me like a great barn door . . . now he's turned
around . . . Baer is so handsome and rather truculent but
looks the least bit pensive . . . you can hear the roar of the
crowd, like an ocean wave, every time Farr hits him."

Finally the announcer, with a casualness that no one but
an Englishman can understand, announced Farr the winner,
in some such words, "Every Englishman must be proud of
him for it was an exhibition of pure English boxing."

An American listener satirically declared that he opined
the fight was merely a game of tag for very few punches
were called. The broadcaster sounded as if he were anxious
to get away for his cup of tea.

The dignity of British sports broadcasting is in the hands

RAPE OF RADIO

of the BBC, which does not trust itself to "that shocking
American accent." Britannia's air waves were represented
at the Louis-Schmeling fight of 1938 by a special British
commentator. During the 1937 Olympic ice hockey games
at Garmisch-Partenkirchen, the British assigned Robert
Bowman, a young Canadian whose virtues seemed unknown
to them at the time, although he had been an announcer
for eighteen months. He had all the gusto and mounting
verbal climaxes of the American announcer, piling on such
phrases as "Here we are folks, huddled right down in the
clear, brisk, cold waiting for . . . oh, boy, what a shot! what
a shot! ... I wish you could have seen it, folks."

That was the last of Robert Bowman. A flood of letters
complaining about the American accent poured into Broad-
casting House in London. Bowman was gently put off the
air, and the order went forth that thereafter announcers
were to maintain the official BBC manner of sports por-
trayal— free from emotional sway, impersonal, contained.

Our sports broadcasts have nevertheless won praise from a
section of the British public. Collie Knox, radio editor of
the London Daily Mail, grew enthusiastic about the airing
of the Kentucky Derby by Clem McCarthy, and in a special
article he said: "The broadcast of the Kentucky Derby de-
pressed me. It depressed me because it was so perfectly done.
The commentators had pep, humor and knowledge. They
made the race live. Now ask me why we cannot get such
broadcasters over here. Or rather why we don't. It must be
some form of national repression."

British fight announcers have much more latitude than
is the American practice. During the progress of the fight,
they freely voice their opinions as to who is winning and
they may also criticize the mode of fighting. American an-
nouncers express no v opinions — that being the duty of ap-
pointed referees and judges.

12

DOES RADIO RULE POLITICS?

DISCOVERY of powerful value of the microphone for
political speakers was not made until the Democratic
Convention of 1932. The instrument had found a master in
Franklin D. Roosevelt. Roosevelt, a new and friendly voice,
tinged with the sincerity of colloquial phrases that captured
the ears of the nation, was swept into public office and
earned the soubriquet of "Radio President."

The G.O.P. Convention in 1924 was a mild affair com-
pared with the prolonged session which nominated Gov-
ernor Cox at Madison Square Garden. It was the era of the
goose-necked horns when radio was in its squeaking infancy.
Then came the period of Al Smith's showmanship before
the "pie-plate" as he dubbed the microphone.

The Smith voice was that of a fighter, explosive, harsh,
yet not enough to be exceedingly disagreeable. His raspy
quality was modified by a great sense of humor. The chuckle
lurked behind the sentences and foretold the approach of a
good-natured or humorous point. The "happy-warrior" voice
was confident, aggressive, and chuck full of unpolished words
hitherto unheard of in rad-dio.

Only a few were privileged to listen to the proceedings
of a presidential convention. On his 1923 tour into the West,
Harding spoke through the Denunciator" as the microphone
was then called. The "new-fangled telephone" crippled his
style of oratory and politicians advised him to throw it
aside. But amplified oratory came to stay. Through head-
phone, the unseen audience listened to President Wilson,
but by that time improved transmission enabled them to hear
the voice of Coolidge as well. Today the ears of the nation

415

416 RAPE OF RADIO

can instantly catch the proceedings of a presidential con-
vention.

Less than twenty stations were linked when Coolidge was
named for office but Coolidge was far from being "Silent
Cal" before the microphone. By 1936 the proceedings of the
convention which nominated Governor Landon of Kansas
were carried from Maine to Honolulu through the use of
over two hundred transmitters. During six and a half years
in the White House Mr. Coolidge engaged in thirty-seven
broadcasts.

Herbert Hoover faced the microphone ninety-five times
during his four years of incumbency. His voice was typical
of the engineer. The microphone betrayed deliberate effort.
But the importance of what a president says insures a large
listening audience, no matter what the quality of his radio
delivery. In that respect he has an advantage over his op-
ponent. The timbre of the Hoover voice was a trifle heavy.
The broadcasters called it "the voice of a man who does not
like to talk." His manner of monotoned speaking showed
great positiveness, even stubbornness. President Roosevelt
exceeded the record established by any of his predecessors
in office.

It was predicted that radio would bring about a com-
plete change in vocal technique for political speakers. The
hope is far too sanguine. Human nature is not easily trans-
formed by a mechanical device like the microphone. The
instincts for unbridled expression and for flamboyant ora-
tory are deep in the human conscience.

Alfred Landon himself admitted some two years later re-
flectively in the New York Times that the G.O.P. furnished
him with a voice instructor to spruce up his radio delivery.
"But I had little time," he complained "in the unremitting
pressure upon me for practice. There was some concern
about my radio delivery in comparison with Franklin Roose-
velt's. The White House is primarily an executive office not

DOES RADIO RULE POLITICS? 417

a broadcasting station. There are different accents in dif-
ferent sections of the country. Mine was a western accent,
that of the environment in which I was reared. Mr. Roose-
velt's ability appeared one night when I heard him say 'war'
with the New York accent which made it 'waw' to western
ears, and then change to 'War-r' with a sturdy Y the next
time he used the word."

Listeners noticed that Landon's voice was inclined to fade
during a broadcast. This was because he had a habit of
swaying from side to side, which took him out of range of
the microphone. A special stand was built for him in order
to enable him to keep a steady position in relation to the
mike. He regarded his speaking problem seriously, and had
his speeches recorded in rehearsal before going on the air
so that he could check them for imperfections.

In common with many political speakers Governor Lan-
don's main difficulty was his lack of precision and articula-
tion. He did not sound clear and reached the ear as a
monotonous jumble. He put the emphasis on the wrong
words, phrased poorly, and lost the rhythm of speech which
indicates the man who speaks, knows and believes what he
is saying. A speech correctionist would recommend that he
have records made of his own speeches, and this would
enable him to pick the flaws in his own style. He would
notice that he speaks with the back of his tongue in his
jaws giving a rasping manner to the pronunciation of "r."

In 1936 the G.O.P. innerguard hoped they could find a
candidate who would vie with Roosevelt as a speaker. They
accepted Governor Landon, whose homely appeal, it was
hoped, would make up for his lack of diction, but Landon
suffered severely by comparison, and his stumbling and
inept phrasing did him scant justice. No use of minimizing
the effects of voice on the electorate. After Landon's weak
and unimaginative speech of acceptance at Topeka, the
polls showed his steady decline.

41 8 RAPE OF RADIO

"His jerkiness, lack of variety and very long phrasing all
indicate self-consciousness. Landon sounds as if he is just
reading strings of words. If it is stage fright, Mr. Landon
should get over it. After all, he is running for president of
the United States. His faults could be eliminated by training.

"The speech of the Socialist candidate, Norman Thomas,
is not bad, but it is a little tense and unsteady. Sometimes
his emotions seem to get the upper hand. I should think he
would have a sore throat after talking a while.

"Earl Browder, the communist candidate, has one thing in
common with his fellow-Kansan, Governor Landon, if noth-
ing else. That is the mid-western nasality which is not con-
fined to Kansas. Frequently, Mr. Browder sounds like a
pedagogue trying to make everything very clear to his class
of little children by speaking in simple words of one syl-
lable. He should give his audience credit for somewhat
higher intelligence. It detracts from his effectiveness."

Radio established Huey Long as a voice of great authority.
In his own state he had already captured the three functions
of government. The North had been misled into believing
his voice that of a clown. It simply missed his power and
talent of mass appeal. Raymond Gram Swing regarded him
as a forerunner of American fascism. Some regarded the
Kingfish the best political radio speaker, better than Presi-
dent Roosevelt. "Give him time on the air," said the publi-
cist "and let him have a campaign in each state, and he can
sweep the country. He is one of the most persuasive men
living."

His enemies called him the "Mouth of the Mississippi."
Few politicians had a tongue so barbed and ready with in-
vective, shrieking adjectives, roaring like a bull. On occasion,
over his own state station WDSU he used the microphone
three hours at a time. His special gift was ad libbing, falling
back into his own after tearing up his prepared script.

An assassin's bullet laid him low and checked the dema-

DOES RADIO RULE POLITICS? 4*9

gogue. His style was simple and direct in the vernacular of
the uneducated man. With a vulgar touch, he was par ex-
cellence a "man of the people." Lest any late listener might
be in doubt as to his identity he had the habit of repeating
at frequent intervals: "This is Huey Long speaking." "This
is Huey Long reading to you from the Bible." And then he
would go on preaching his "Share the Wealth Doctrine."
Huey Long intended to use Radio to build up a nation
wide political machine.

The microphone has at least brought about some changes
from old time practices. In the older days, the candidate
would journey around the country, making as many as
twenty speeches a day in tank towns. The speech usually
was the same for each locality. The big speeches were re-
served for the big cities. Today candidates make fewer
speeches and save them for important occasions. Sometimes
the talk delivered before a local audience is not designed
for local conception but is framed rather for radio listeners.

Radio has reduced the oratory of the convention to almost
negligent importance. The convention orator at one time
lent powerful influence to nomination of candidates. The
Democratic Convention of 1896 was a classic example of
what sheer oratory can accomplish. The "Thou shalt not
crucify us on a cross of gold" speech lifted William Jennings
Bryan into the candidacy.

In many respects the nominating conventions of 1940 did
not differ widely from those in the past. History records the
uproar and the demonstration of the delegates who nomi-
nated Lincoln in 1860. Radio has increased the tendency
towards stage celebration. Convention oratory is designed
for radio consumption since most of the talking has already
been privately finished in smoke-filled conference rooms.

The public is becoming aware that any convention demon-
stration is about ten per cent spontaneous, ninety per cent
forced, with the addition of the big pipe organ that alter-

42O RAPE OF RADIO

nates with the band and fills the convention hall with its
cacophonies. Daylight sessions are dull. The galleries are
empty. Night sessions are all pepped up and the gallery is
jammed. To many listeners the Convention Hall seemed
to be a vacuum filled with words.

President Harding was the first chief executive to take
radio along on a train trip. That was in 1923. The micro-
phone always irked President Harding. He had to abandon
his habit of walking up and down the platform, and some-
how he lost personal contact when he ignored the visible
audience for the sake of that imponderable unseen audience.

Radio is responsible for the decline and prolongation of
convention oratory. Such a sentiment was uttered in his
dying moments by Godfrey G. Gloom, that aged Jeffersonian
creation of Elmer Davis who was struck by an automobile
after leaving the Convention Hall. "As for the radio, its
demoralizing effect on convention oratory is well known. If
it had taken the roaring out of oratory it could well be com-
mended, but it has merely taken out the spontaneity and left
all the roars in, with the sole qualification that the roarer
has to take the proper stance so that he can roar into the
microphone."

The microphone has its limitations in presenting the true
feeling and atmosphere that surrounds the speaker. The
speech may be nothing more than a wild bellow in the hall.
Over the microphone it becomes detached from the other
sounds of which the voice is properly a part.

The Fireside Chat

There are some who say that Franklin D. Roosevelt won
his spurs before the microphone at the right time in history.
His voice came with soothing power at a time when the air
was filled with voices whose raucous prophesies did not
match their political wisdom.

DOES RADIO RULE POLITICS? 421

It was by his fireside chats that the President established
himself as one of the finest political speakers of modern
times. The term, "fireside chat," was coined by the news-
papers and adapted by the broadcasting stations. The term
conveniently describes that type of address in which the
president takes the people into his confidence and discusses
the vital problems of the country. While it carries with it
the implication that the speech is casual and impromptu,
the president's words have had the deepest thought and
planning. The term caught the public's fancy, and it is
probably here to stay. The chats are looked upon by the
public as important news events. The president it is as-
sumed has something important to say else he would not
go on the air.

The words of salutation of other presidents had always
been, "My Countrymen," or "Fellow Citizens." President
Roosevelt salutes his audience as "My Friends," and the in-
tonation of these two words became to American ears a
standard phrase for imitation. No. i Fireside Chat was the
talk on the banking moratorium, of March 12, 1933, eight
days after assuming office. The scene was the Oval Room
of the White House.

The president talks to the people in language easily un-
derstood. He tells them what he is trying to do. He urges
them to be calm. Families are listening in, nearly two-thirds
of the seventeen million radio homes in the United States.
His friendly and agreeable tonality frees their minds from
suspicion, makes them open-minded and makes them anxious
to listen.

Hitler would never consent to speak into a microphone
in the quiet of the studio. He feeds on the plaudits and the
"Heils!" of the mob before his eyes. Before the microphone
in public places, Hitler never loses his theatrical gesture.
He impounds the air with his fists as well as his voice.

One critic said of Roosevelt that during his fireside chats

422 RAPE OF RADIO

you get the feeling that he is talking and toasting marsh-
mallows at the same time. The president sometimes speaks
with warmth and passion and deep sincerity. His over
genial tones of the fireside chat change to tones of invec-
tive. There are occasional lapses into frankness that are
uncommon in formal addresses. On one occasion, Presi-
dent Roosevelt interrupted himself to ask, "Where's that
glass of water? It is a very hot evening in Washington, my
friends." He welds argument with the strong blows of the
crusader. Franklin D. Roosevelt has not lost any of his old
mastery. Perhaps he is better than ever. His acceptance
speech at Franklin Field displayed him at his best. His words
were tinged with earnestness and zeal. He was letting him-
self go before the crowds as his heart felt. "This generation
of